


A Tidy History of Hapless Queer Avengers

by bluestalking, feverbeats



Series: Hapless Queer Avengers [1]
Category: Avengers (Comic), Marvel, Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, Thor (Comics)
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Gay Male Character, Genderqueer Character, LGBTQ Female Character, M/M, Multi, RP, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-17
Updated: 2012-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-31 08:18:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 58,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluestalking/pseuds/bluestalking, https://archiveofourown.org/users/feverbeats/pseuds/feverbeats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Bruce <i>Banner?"</i> Tony checks. "Sullen scientist by day, mean green smashing machine by--day? That Bruce?"</p><p>Thor nods carefully. "Yes. And it was very pleasant."</p><p>(in which bruce and thor have an unlikely relationship, steve is from the past, tony takes hormones, natasha is long-suffering, and loki just wants people to hurt.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. thor attempts to diminish bruce banner's rage

**Author's Note:**

> This is the tidied-up transcript of an ongoing RP. Apologies for initial awkwardnesses and weird continuity things.
> 
> WARNINGS FOR: perfectly healthy pornography, dubcon, transphobia, internalized homophobia, past abuse, possible alcohol abuse, and mental health issues. Advance warning for PTSD and past rape. We WILL post warnings per-chapter. Also, we promise that some nice things happen.

_What happens before we settled on a writing form: Thor screws the Hulk, Thor tries to make Bruce Banner his boyfriend, Bruce Banner doesn’t take kindly to this, and all the Avengers feel awkward. In desperation they ask Wolverine, who is in everything ever written, to talk to both of them and fix it. Wolverine tells Thor to shut the hell up and do some listening. Thor decides he will attempt this mortal listening with some awkward and well-meaning flowers. Then he goes to Bruce’s house._

~

Thor gets a bouquet, because he knows exactly that much about mortals, and he goes to Bruce's place. Bruce deigns to open the door. His whole expression is thin. Thor thrusts the flowers at him awkwardly. "I have something I wish to say. But perhaps not in the doorway, this time."

Bruce steps back. "Then come in this time," he says. He doesn't take the flowers, just eyes them in slight alarm.

Thor doesn't really want to set the flowers down, so he continues holding them awkwardly. "I...wish to apologize. For the way I acted." He's still flying blind here, but he's not a complete idiot. He tries a small, rueful smile.

Bruce waved his hand to a kitchen chair and takes one himself. He isn't smiling. "For which way you acted, exactly?"

Thor sits, laying the flowers on the table. "I realize it was a mistake to...to couple with the Hulk." He blushes, annoyed at having all the wrong words as well as, apparently, the wrong ideas. "The Hulk..." Thor says, slowly and carefully for once. "He is...not you. Correct?"

Bruce's expression slips a little. He hadn't thought--he really hadn't thought this idiot god understood even that much. "No," he says, trying not to sound hesitant. "No, he's not."

Thor nods. "I didn't know. I didn't think of it, even. We have nothing--no one like you in Asgard." A bare year ago, he wouldn't have wanted to try this hard not to say the wrong thing.

Bruce snorts, barely more than a puff of air. "There's not really anyone like me here, either," he says.

Thor waits a moment. Then he says, "Nor like me."

Bruce says, "I don't get you. What do you want, anyway?"

Thor blinks. He thought it was obvious. He thought a lot of things. "I want you. I seem to have accidentally overstepped my bounds, but that was my only intention, I swear it."

Bruce grits his teeth and swallows, but even he isn't sure if it's anger or not. He says, "You don't even--have we even ever had a real conversation? Do we have anything to talk about when you haven't just--" There are a number of words in his head, and all of them are ugly.

Thor flushes slightly. "In Asgard--" But no, even in Asgard, Thor's actions would be considered immature at best. Finally, he settles on, "I don't know what I am to you. I thought we were--it was fun. And then I made a mistake, and I've been courting you all wrong, and I don't know..." He sighs. "My brother always told me I had to learn to stop requiring guidance in every matter that touched on emotion. I apologize."

Bruce swallows again. "You've been acting like you have--ownership," he says. "I didn't give you ownership."

Thor very nearly starts to say something about, But why not ownership, I'm prince of Asgard, but he catches himself. He's not that person anymore. Instead, he says, "I...It was unclear. As you say, we didn't speak of it. I made a mistake."

"You should have asked!" Bruce snaps, and then retreats. "No, it's my fault too," he says. "Never sleep with people you can't talk to." He looks up eyes glinting. "Good advice for you," he suggests a little unpleasantly.

Thor clenches his fist and then unclenches it carefully. It's Bruce, he reminds himself. He may not know the man well, but he knows getting angry is a mistake. "Neither of us tried," he says. "And yet here we are, talking. We're not entirely at odds, then."

That's true. It shuts Bruce up for a minute. He rubs his eyes tiredly and says, "If you haven't noticed by now, I don't talk to anyone. I'm not much better at being human than you are." If that penny drops, fine.

Thor raises his eyebrows, surprised, but not really insulted. It's true. He's not human. "Perhaps that's the problem," he says. "I'm not like mortals. I can't pretend to be. I love Midgard, but I'm an outsider as well. But at least I'm trying."

It is horribly frustrating that Thor is telling the truth, and that Bruce can't spit back that he is _too_. He breathes deeply, and still sounds rushed when he answers, "I'm saying I'm--for god's sake," wrong choice of words, "I'm sorry I didn't talk things out for you, and maybe a recovering egomaniac like you doesn't understand it, but it's hard to justify yourself when--" When you hate what you are and what you've done and what you've done to yourself, and when your friends are afraid of you. When you could kill anyone you get close to.

"It's frankly terrifying for you to do anything but eye me warily from a great distance," he finishes shortly, feeling a little ill. "I don't know what to say because I don't know what to do."

Thor nods slowly. He understands everything Bruce is saying, if not yet all the things he isn't saying. "For whatever it may be worth, I am a god. You'd have to work hard to do me any real damage. If I'm not wary of you, it's because I'm used to mortals being wary of me. I've never been called a monster, but I've hurt people by accident more times than I can count." He takes a breath. Speeches like this aren't his strong suit. "And now I've hurt you in a different way."

It has been a long time since anybody, that Bruce is aware, has considered that he might be hurt, in any way. It--really is frightening, he realizes. He fights for an answer. "You don't...see him as a monster," he states. It's almost a question.

Thor is genuinely surprised. "I would never have bedded a monster."

"But," Bruce starts, and then abstains. The objection is automatic. What Thor has actually said takes a few more seconds to sink in. "Do you want us both? Or do you just want him?"

"Until today," Thor says, "I never considered you to be separate. You inhabit one body. To want one of you must be to want both." He can't help but feel that he's getting this terribly wrong.

Bruce frowns. "But like I am right now, is this something you'd want?" He gestures to himself, sounding a little less distressed, like working out a puzzle distracts him from the fact that he is a number of its pieces.

Thor is confused by Bruce's confusion. "Why not? You're my friend." It's not quite accurate, but he plans to be aggressively friendly to everyone on the team until they become friends.

Bruce finds himself a little slack-jawed. "I think friendship works differently in Asgard," he quips, and blinks. "I," he starts, and then scrubs his hair with his hand. He looks up. "I don't know what is wrong with you," he says. "But I do find you attractive. Maybe I could--" He runs out of courage, stops, waits for more.

Thor doesn't want to make a false move now, but he's still impatient by nature. "I find you attractive as well," he presses. "In case that was unclear."

Bruce smiles for a moment. "It's clear," he says. "It's just important to bear in mind that I'm crazy. It's a difficulty. But if that doesn't bother you, I would--I think I would like to try this again." Somewhere in this conversation has moved from rage to disinterest to fear. He hopes Thor will say yes after all.

Thor brightens. "Oh, well, if that's all. Most of the people I love best are mad." Apparently his error, which is now somewhat clearer to him, hasn't put Bruce off completely. "If you're willing to try, I am as well." He lays his hand over Bruce's carefully.

Bruce laughs, because Thor is probably telling the absolute truth, and of course the _god_ of thunder is going to steal his, and make all his problems some little attractive thing about him. He braces himself, and then turns his hand under Thor's so their palms touch.

"Yes," says Bruce. "Okay. Good."

Thor squeezes Bruce's hand carefully. "A fresh start. No, a second chance, bearing in mind this discussion," he corrects himself.

Bruce nods towards the flowers, feeling a little ridiculous. "So are those for me?" He isn't thinking about what he's saying so much as he is thinking about the heat of Thor's hand. This is a stupid thing to do. A stupid thing to do.

He can't quite get worked up about it.

Thor clears his throat. "I understood...Well, it's a mortal custom, correct? Bringing flowers to the object of one's affection as an apology?" He thinks, despite the awkwardness, that he's finally doing the right thing.

"It's correct," Bruce says. "If you're really good at apologizing, the object of your affection does this." He stands up and leans over and kisses Thor. It's a very polite kiss, to show him they're all right and capable of conversation after all.

Thor kisses back, only a little harder, because while he wants to be careful, kissing hard comes naturally to him. He pulls back after a second, beaming. "I see."

"I think you do," Bruce says thoughtfully. He straightens. "Come on," he says. "I'll teach you about vases."

Thor follows him, feeling properly balanced for the first time today.


	2. thor follows bruce to the job we later forget he has, and bruce invites thor home for tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's a _god,_ Bruce thinks again, a little wildly. A god in his kitchen, trying to sort out Bruce's emotional disorders. At this point, what the hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings.

Bruce follows up the resolution to try again and get to know each other better by acting like himself. That is to say, he doesn't get affectionate at meetings, he makes himself too busy for dates, and generally he spends a lot of time being very hard to find and doing--some sorts of sciencey things that always look really dangerous to interrupt.

Thor responds as he often does--by ignoring the clear signals Bruce is sending off. As far as he's concerned, their conversation sorted out what needed to be sorted out, and they should be moving forward. He cheerfully presents himself at the times Bruce looks the most busy and remains confused when Bruce doesn't respond to his aggressive affection. Finally, after a few days, he stops trying, puzzled and annoyed.

Bruce is sort of surprised to look up at the clock one evening and see it's nearly midnight, and realize Thor hasn't floated by once today looking muscular and confident and trying really unsuccessfully to make small talk. He stands up from his desk and stretches. Something pops in his back. He wonders if Thor was just busy, doing...whatever Thor does here, when he's not smashing villains. 

He realizes he's not quite sure how to reach Thor if he should want to find out.

Thor is very bad at giving up. Despite his aggravated resolution to leave Bruce in peace, he finds that he can't, at least not without finding out what's wrong now. And a small part of him nags and tells him that Bruce could be in trouble. The Hulk could be--Thor isn't sure, but he's certain he shouldn't leave Bruce completely alone. He's heard that pacing outside someone's lab could be considered stalking, but he likes to think of it as protecting. After all, Bruce is unlikely to find out.

Bruce tries to think of who would know where Thor is at this time of night. He finds himself wishing, with slight annoyance, that gods in Midgard would bother to carry a cell phone. He wonders if standing on the roof and yelling at the sky would be enough to get Heimdall's attention. Heimdall would know where Thor is. Heimdall knows where everybody is.

He shrugs on his jacket and starts out the door, heading to the stairs for the roof.

Thor is pacing more quickly now, and in smaller circles. He wonders what a Midgardian would do in this situation, but he suspects even that might not help with Bruce. He's considering giving up and returning home for the night, as this is getting him nowhere except embarrassed.

Bruce jogs up the stairs and emerges into the cold night air on the flat rooftop of the building. He sticks his hands in his pockets and saunters to the edge, face to the sky.

"Heimdall," he says, "I don't know if you'd care, but I'm looking for your prince. The stupid one."

Thor frowns. A voice from the heavens. He's quite familiar with those, but this sounds like a mortal. He glances up. His confusion turns to a grin. Bruce has actually emerged from his cave. Thor's watch wasn't futile after all. "FRIEND!" he calls up and immediately regrets it. With how Bruce has been lately, Thor should probably just have turned home.

Bruce tilts his head down and sees Thor waving at him from the pavement. "Well, that was more effective than I'd expected," he mutters. He wanders back over to the stairs and starts down.

Thor takes a moment to think about what Bruce would want, and while, as usual, he has little idea what that is, he's almost certain Bruce wouldn't want Thor to stride over to him. But, being Thor, he can't entirely help himself. "Stargazing?" he calls out with only partially forced cheerfulness. He knows mortals watch the heavens often.

Bruce sticks his head out of the door, blinking. "Looking for rainbows, actually," he mutters, and adds more clearly, "Haven't seen you around in a while."

Thor is used to Bruce's mutterings, so he plows past that portion of the conversation. "No," he says instead, "I feared you were avoiding me." He punctuates the statement with a grin, in case Bruce wants to laugh it off and call it absurd.

In fact, Bruce retracts into the doorway by several inches and blushes. "I," he says. "I told you, I really don't talk to people. I wasn't trying to--"

"But we had agreed to talk." Not pushy, but firm. Thor doesn't want to let this drop until he understands why, at least. And it seems as though Bruce isn't pushing him away completely.

Bruce is gripping the doorframe, as if trying to prevent himself from being sucked backwards into the building by some invisible force. "I know that," he says. It sounds sharper than he means it to, but he's afraid the alternative is not getting it out at all. "I--I don't not want to. It's not that easy."

Well, that's pathetic.

"Hm." Thor stops and considers. He's known people like Bruce before, but not exactly like, and besides, he was bad with them, too. "Talking seems simple enough," he offers. "Perhaps we could start with something easy. We could discuss our...work."

"Maybe we could sit down," Bruce says. He lets go of the doorframe and runs his hand through his hair with a sigh. "I could get my stuff, we could--go to my place. Have tea. Do you--do you do tea?"

"Not like you do, no. But yes. Tea sounds nice." Thor smiles, trying not to look too much like a small, hopeful animal. "And I would indeed like to go to your 'place'."

Bruce hears the carefully Midgardian way that Thor says the last word, and relaxes enough to smile. "Okay," he says. "Give me a minute to--" He turns around and heads for his office without finishing his sentence.

Thor pauses only a second before following him. He's been given an opening and he's not about to let Bruce retreat out of sight again. "Do you require aid?" he asks cheerfully, a few paces behind.

Bruce jumps, but manages to say evenly, "No, no help. I'm--fine. You can come up if you want, though," he says as an afterthought, as though Thor isn't already doing that without his say-so.

"Gladly! A very inviting place indeed." It's not really anything of the sort, but Thor has been taught to be polite. He isn't sure politeness is something that works on Bruce. Or maybe their ideas of what's polite are just very different.

Bruce pauses outside his office door to turn around and quirk a half-smile at Thor. "It's an underfunded cinderblock university science lab. Unless everyone's been lying about the quality of living Asgard, I'm not sure you could call this 'inviting.'"

"Ah. I thought perhaps Midgardian standards were different," he lies badly. He finds himself vary charmed by the vicious streak in Bruce's sense of humor, something more than self-deprecating. "Nonetheless, it seems peaceful. Quiet." He makes a face that he hopes is apologetic.

Bruce finds himself, at least temporarily, settled by Thor's weird blend of obvious uncertainty and steady kindness. He might not deserve it, but at least it gives him room to maneuver.

He collects his bag and shuts off his computer and gestures to the door with a nod.

"That's all," he said. "We can walk to my apartment from here."

Thor makes a move as if to take Bruce's arm and stops himself. It might be too soon for that, or worse, that might not be something mortals do. Suddenly he can't remember. He's still caught off guard by how unbalanced he feels in this place. He settles for clapping a hand on Bruce's shoulder for a moment and following him silently.

Bruce leads them back outside and then sets off towards home. He's silent for half a block, and then says abruptly, "How is your father?" It's the first thing he can think of, and he instantly feels a rising hysteria as the words escape him. How is your dad, the GOD ODIN? Oh, hell.

Thor sighs. If he were someone else, he might say that he prefers not to speak of it, but he's more than used to facing questions about his family. "He's well," he says. Then, because he wants to be honest with Bruce, "He wants me to return home to rule. He thinks me a fool for staying in Midgard." He realizes none of the other Avengers have asked about his father.

Bruce glances up at him and then looks back at the sidewalk. "Why--do you stay here?"

Thor always thinks it's obvious. "Because I love you, of course. Mortals!" he clarifies quickly. "I love mortals. They have a certain youth and kindness my people never will."

Thor's self-correction comes several words too late to keep Bruce's heart from jumping into his throat. He feels like pins and needles everywhere. He keeps his face calm, though, swallows and steps around some dog's shit on the sidewalk. "Kindness," he says, not quite steadily. He knows it sounds bitter.

Thor hesitates. "It may be hard to see, for you. But I come from a place where the wrong words at a feast can get your tongue torn out, or a harmless prank can buy an eternity of pain. It seems restful here after all that." He doesn't mention that interacting with Bruce doesn't fall into the restful category. 

"I come from a place," Bruce mimics, the bitterness in his voice clearer now, "where the people who call you a monster will chase you to the end of the world to make you into a weapon." He turns up a side street. "Or maybe it's just karma for making weapons to begin with," he says tiredly. He hadn't meant to turn the conversation around onto himself.

Thor follows him, silent for a moment. Then he says, "Your life is very different from that of other Midgardians. I think that is why..." He clears his throat. "That's why I found myself drawn to you in something other than friendship." Prince of Asgard, he reminds himself. It doesn't do to be nervous.

Bruce laughs. It's not exactly a happy sound, but Thor does have this incredible ability to terrify him and calm him down all at once. "And we've already ascertained that you don't think I'm a monster, haven't we?" He says it lightly. His voice wobbles. They're standing at the bottom of his front stoop.

Thor turns and smiles full-on at Bruce. "Yes, we have," he says easily and firmly. This is one thing he can be certain of, and one he must be certain of. He wishes he'd learned the skill long ago: reassuring people they aren't monsters.

Bruce shuffles to face Thor properly. "Avoiding you really isn't my intention," he says. "Even though you're--frighteningly nice to me, and I don't have any idea what we can possibly..." He grimaces. "I would like to talk to you, however bad I am at it. And you don't have to--I'm not really off-limits." _If you just ask,_ he wants to add, but he's afraid of sounding afraid just as he's claiming it's okay.

Thor smiles, mostly hopeful, a little careful. He still feels a little lost, but less. "In that case--" He's better at words than actions, so he reaches out and takes Bruce's arm, hoping that it's something people do. 

The noise Bruce makes then isn't quite a laugh, more a bemused little puff of air. Since Thor has ahold of his free arm, he has to work it free before he can rest his hand against Thor's neck. "This is more traditional," he says, and leans up to kiss Thor's mouth.

Thor actually hesitates a moment, taken by surprise. He didn't expect even this much. But then he kisses Bruce back, leaning down slightly to make the angle less awkward. It's good. It's not complicated.

Bruce pulls back, eventually, and he's allowed to pull back--that's good. He takes a deep breath and says, "Come in?" He gestures up to the front door. He's doing so few stupid things that he's afraid to stop, or he might just backtrack over everything.

Thor goes in, grinning. This feels all right. He doesn't feel as though he's making mistakes. "This feels better than the last time I was here," he says honestly.

This time when Bruce laughs, it sounds like a laugh. Why do you bother? he wonders helplessly, but it won't do anyone any good for him to say it. "Tea?" he says instead, and puts the kettle on before Thor can answer.

Thor sits, content to wait and see what happens next. "Should I ask about you family? I want to get to know you, but I've found, from asking the others, that it's not always the best topic."

Bruce wrinkles his nose at the kettle. "It's complicated," he says. "Let's say I have bad luck with women?" That sounds bitter too. He backs off. "Very bad luck," he says more quietly. He turns around to smile at Thor, though. "There's Jen, though. She's a good cousin. And a lawyer. And green."

Thor breaks into a smile. "Then you're not such a singular creature after all, Doctor Banner. That must...help." Being alone, he's realizing, is one of the worst feelings there is.

The kettle whistles. Bruce fills up the teapot and puts the lid on it. "Milk or sugar?" he asks, remembering he didn't really ask if Thor wanted tea at all.

Thor hesitates, again caught between the cracks of a new culture. Then he thinks of his home and decides that sweeter is better. Sweet is familiar, anyhow. "Both," he says.

"Mm," says Bruce. He sets down the tea pot and gathers up everything else. He feels embarrassed for leaving the milk in its carton and not in a pitcher, but he also feels embarrassed for setting out tea. At least he doesn't own a tea cozy anymore. "She's...good for keeping perspective," he says about Jennifer. "She--well, she's a stronger person than me. I'm not sure I could--live as fearlessly as she does, but she does remind you it's possible to try."

Thor wants very badly to gather Bruce into a hug, but he's quickly learning that unsolicited physical contact is a gamble. Besides, pity is rarely welcome. He's not sure he pities Bruce, quite. It's hard to pity someone who contains that much power. "I hope you remember that, then," he says, patting Bruce's arm. "I'd like to see you outside your office once in a while."

Bruce stares at Thor for several seconds, before he quickly pours himself some tea.

He wonders how long it will be before saying something dangerous has a price again.

"I remember," he says, and then instead of leaving it there, he keeps going--maybe in order to find out the answer. "The Hulk is fearless. But the only reason he shows up, you know, is that there's something to be afraid of." He peeks over his mug. "There's always something. I just get tired."

Thor decides that his hand needs to be back on Bruce's arm, so he puts it back. He can't argue, because Bruce is probably right. He'd know best. But maybe Thor can help with something, at least.

"Have you ever thought of looking at the Hulk as a good thing? Not simply a, a defense, but a--" The words noble warrior stop before they leave his mouth. "I think of him as a friend, too," he says instead.

Bruce puts down his mug, trying to psychically indicate that he doesn't mind Thor's hand where it is. "He's--more aware than he used to be," Bruce admits. "He can speak now. That took a long time. He can--help people. Hey, really you want to know why I hate him so much, right?"

"Well..." Thor had wanted to ask without making it sound like an accusation, and he'd felt even more cautious since everything that had happened. "Yes," he admits. "I don't understand it."

Bruce nods, eying Thor's arm against his own. It's incongruous. Improbable. He doesn't want it to move.

"When the Hulk was--born," he says, "I--lost my whole life. I liked being a snug scientist with no social life, okay? And then--" He waves his hand to indicate everything that's happened since then. There's plenty he doesn't want to describe. "--and then everything was a battle. Even when no one is hunting us down or throwing us out, he's here making it a battle. And you know," he says, meeting Thor's eye, "the Hulk doesn't like me either. I'm too weak."

Thor thinks it's rather a pity that he can't just knock Bruce and the Hulk's heads together. "Well, I like you both," he says firmly. "He may not stop fighting, but you haven't stopped fighting him, either. You must be a little angry by now." He pats Bruce's arm hard, this time pushing for a reaction and not afraid of what it'll be.

Bruce scowls, fingers tightening against the table. "I'm _not allowed to be,_ " he hisses.

Thor can't actually imagine anything worse, in this moment. "Ah," he says. "Yes."

Bruce swallows his retort, and then his anger slips away. "It's fine," he says. "Like who you want. It'll be novel for both of us."

He wants very badly to grab Thor's hand in his own. For a long moment he's frozen in place, thinking this and thinking it's impossible. Then he does it.

"When I agreed we could talk more," he says, wryly and anxiously, "I didn't mean to make you play therapist."

Thor, for what feels like the hundredth time in an hour, relaxes. He smiles and squeezes Bruce's hand harder than he means to. "This is nice," he says. Oddly, he means it. "I'm getting to know you. Or at least what upsets you." He takes his other hand and runs his fingers over the back of Bruce's knuckles.

"That would be everything, then," Bruce says, still wry, but there's an odd hitch in it now.

"I--" Thor can't stop himself this time. He puts his arms around Bruce, snug, but not too tight in case Bruce wants to flee.

Bruce shivers. "You--I--" he says. "You're not going to die if we fuck, right?"

That's it, the last big secret worry. It sounds ridiculous, too, except it's true. The world really has taught him that caring too much means someone dies young.

Thor laughs and then sobers instantly, seeing that Bruce means it. "No," he says softly. "I'm a god. We do not die easily." He holds Bruce tighter and nuzzles his ear as confirmation that he's powerful and solid and not going anywhere.

Bruce tentatively raises his arms to hold Thor back. He's a god, Bruce thinks again, a little wildly. A god in his kitchen, trying to sort out Bruce's emotional disorders.

At this point, what the hell.

"In that case," Bruce says, "I think I'd like to put myself back...on-limits? Perhaps."

Thor takes a moment to sort through what Bruce and said, but when he has, he laughs. "I must confess, when I waited outside this evening, I didn't think I'd even see you. This is much, much better." Bruce feels tiny in his arms, but not quite fragile. Thor is glad of that, because he wants to be touching Bruce everywhere at some point in the near future.

~

Bruce does eventually wish Thor goodnight. He leans out the door while Thor stands on the steps (it makes Bruce taller, briefly), and says, "I'd let you stay, but I'm sad that you're going. Trust me, it'll help in the long run."

Thor is learning that the most important thing here is to trust Bruce when he says something about himself, at least tentatively. "Until next time, then. And this time, I won't let you avoid me for so long."

Bruce raises his eyebrows. "If you would just use phones, I'd tell you to call me. You know, for a--" His nonchalance fails him. "--for a date. If you think that would..."

Thor brightens. "A date! Yes, I've been learning about those." He usually doesn't worry about being suave, but he's aware that he's just failed at it. "I would like that very much. I shall endeavor to learn how to use a...phone." He's now been not-suave twice, but he doesn't mind.

Bruce stares at him a little. "Uh," he says, "great. You can--you can come by my office, if you want. Until you learn...phones. Sometime this week. At five or so. We can--we can do something...?" It's possible his tongue is made of wool. Stupid, stupid sheep wool.

"Dinner," Thor says with finality. He's sure of this part. "I know a restaurant. We'll go on Tuesday." Giving orders is easier than asking, both because he's used to it and because it works more quickly.

"Tuesday," Bruce repeats. Then he thinks with cringing embarrassment of all the private things he's coughed up at Thor tonight, and the gentle way Thor has taken it all in hand, even if he isn't right about everything. _That's a good thing, stupid_ , he tells himself. "Tuesday would be good," he says. "I'll--I'll see you."

Thor kisses Bruce's cheek quickly. "I'll see you," he echoes, pleased. He's clearly done something right, and he even knows what some of it is so he can repeat it. "Goodnight, Bruce."

"Goodnight," Bruce says, frowning and smiling and bemused. He can't change his expression even after the door is shut.


	3. thor and bruce have a hapless dinner out, on tony's suggestion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He should probably learn not to brood in front of someone with the emotional responses of a golden retriever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNINGS: None!

Thor shows up at Bruce's door exactly ten minutes before he's due, because he is aggressively determined to get mortal customs right, even if he can't necessarily get interacting with Bruce right on the first try. He knocks with a great deal more strength than is probably required, but to be fair, he's excited. He hasn't had a proper Midgardian date yet.

Bruce wrenches the door open about five inches and looks at Thor and says, "How nicely should I be dressed for this?"

Thor blinks. He...really only has one outfit, plus a few pieces of mortal clothing, mostly forced on him by Jane at various times. It now occurs to him that perhaps he shouldn't be wearing his princely regalia to a restaurant. "It matters not," he says dubiously.

Bruce, increasing his repertoire, makes a sound that is a desperate cousin to the laugh. "Well I'm not wearing anything with holes in it," he says. "That'll do, I guess." The door swings open the rest of the way, Bruce visibly trying not to slouch and glare furtively at songbirds.

Thor swallows a laugh. Bruce looks like he's trying so hard that Thor is delighted, but laughter would sound unkind. He's also a little shocked at how attractive he finds Bruce. He knew he wanted him, and later he knew he wanted to spend time with him, but for a moment, he's hit hard by what can only be called a crush. "You look wonderful," he says, smiling.

Bruce, patting his pocket for his wallet, steps outside and shuts the door with an unnecessary bang. "Hang on, let me just," he says, turning around to lock the door. 

There was another reason to hate Hulk, he thought enviously. Hulk manages to be green and violent and unlike everything around him, and find it in himself to be okay with that. It's Bruce who's bad at being called attractive by absurdly candid Norse myths. He tries to stop blushing furiously.

Thor, satisfied that he hasn't done something wildly amiss yet, puts his arm around Bruce when he turns from locking the door. "The restaurant isn't too far from here. Iron Man suggested it to me." Thor remains somewhat dubious about Tony, but the man has good taste. Thor is pretty sure.

"Oh, great," Bruce says, rolling his eyes. "Does Iron Man remember that not everyone's weekly salary fills an armored car?"

Thor hesitates. That hadn't occurred to him. "I...have some gold." People have reacted to the subject of payment in such wildly different ways that he's never sure what to say.

They are thirty feet away from Bruce's building. He stops in the road to laugh properly. "I have money Midgardians believe in," he says. "Yours might make them anxious. Anyway, if that asshole Stark has sent us to some kind of five-star break-the-bank posh person restaurant, we'll can just go somewhere else. Carryout. Olive Garden." He makes a vicious little smile at that, imagining shining Thor and endless breadsticks.

Thor nods, relieved. "I believe he was trying to be helpful. But I've noticed that he's not always successful in his endeavors." Thor's standard procedure of believing the best of everyone here sometimes falls a little short in dealing with the other Avengers, but he has no intention of stopping.

"You're very confusing," Bruce tells him. "Well, show me where Tony Stark thinks we should--hey, did you tell him we were having dinner?"

Thor succeeds in looking shifty. "I told him I was having dinner with someone. I felt no need to mention names." He isn't sure how quiet this date is meant to be kept, but even he knows better than to tell Tony all the details of his love life.

"Hmm," says Bruce. It's probably better Stark doesn't know it's him. He is not the kind of mess either Stark or Iron Man can just tidy up. And Bruce doesn't go for that kind of charm. If Stark had known it was him, they'd probably be walking to the most insulting thing he could think of.

Well, probably an Olive Garden.

"I..." Thor hesitates. "I have some friends here besides the Avengers. Jane. A few others. If I mention to them that I...had dinner, could I say it was with you?"

"Yes," Bruce says in surprise. "Oh, I didn't mean--I'm not trying to hide anything. That's just Tony."

Thor breaks out into a huge grin. "Oh, good," he says. "I never know. There are so many rules here. I'm never certain of what's allowed. It wasn't until I spoke with Jane that I knew how difficult mortals can be about..." He waves his hand, forgetting the mortal word and feeling stupid about it. "Men dating men," he says finally.

"That is honestly the least of my image problems," Bruce says, and mumbles onwards, "And if it were then Tony Stark is the last person who could judge me for it."

Thor laughs. "So I gather," he says. "Well, if you don't mind, I don't mind. Don't worry, being prince of Asgard comes with its own set of inborn image problems." He smiles ruefully and squeezes Bruce's shoulder.

Bruce nods. "How--far away is this place that apparently suits Stark's incredible palate?"

"Close." Thor points. "Somewhere on this block, I believe." He scans the area, beaming as always at how amazing mortal cities are.

"Oh good," Bruce says, craning his neck and then realizing he has no idea what he's looking for.

"Ah!" Thor locates the place Tony had described. It looks, from his limited experience with Midgardian restaurants, fancy-but-not-too-fancy. He hopes it's acceptable. "That's it," he says, pointing to the glass-fronted building.

Bruce blinks. "A moment of clarity," he remarks. "This--this should be fine."

Naturally he would be more comfortable eating from a hidden cantina and then dashing off into a forest to make science out of tree frogs.

"Wonderful!" Thor secures his arm firmly around Bruce and steers him into the restaurant. He fights are uncharacteristic bout of nerves as he does so. Your first date ever, a voice in the back of his head reminds him. Don't get it wrong.

They're seated, even though the looks they get are--not just strange, very strange. Bruce has a keen desire to be invisible, and it is not being soothed by Thor's basic tendency to stride around being a golden god. Other people in the restaurant are also not soothed. Bruce stops cataloging escape routes and puts a death grip on his menu. "Order what you want and I'll let you know if I'm bankrupted," he tells Thor.

Thor remembers something from what he's learned about dating that might also help with his basic inability to tell what's good apart from everything. Apparently you can't order everything, because this is not Asgard and he's not at a feast. 

"What are you having?" he asks. "I'll have the same."

Bruce stops trying to mine the salads for hidden, inexpensive depths, and gives up. "I'm having a steak," he says. "It's made of cow. If you want it cooked through it's 'well done,' if you want it still bloody in the middle, it's 'rare,' and if you want a happy medium, it's 'medium.' I'm also getting wine. Is wine even a--? You do drink alcohol in Asgard?" The Vikings wouldn't have worshiped them otherwise.

Thor laughs. "Of course. We mostly drink mead, but that seems slightly more difficult to find here. Wine will do." This is an area he feels completely comfortable with, at least. The same goes for bloody meat.

"Good," says Bruce, sounding as relieved as he feels. The waiter luckily comes up then and he can pass on all this information as a minor victory. Thor waits politely while Bruce orders, suddenly struck by how much it makes him feel--His brain's first instinct is to say like a maiden, but he should really know better now. It makes him feel taken care of. He's not used to that.

"So I--was wondering," Bruce says, intercepted by glasses of water, unaware that he's done anything remarkable. "What exactly do you do in Mid--on Earth? When you're not fighting crime or standing outside my office."

Thor opens his mouth to give a true answer, nearly stops, then says it anyway. "I walk around and look at things." It sounds even stupider out loud, and more embarrassing. "This place--It's still so new and incredible to me. So different from the last time I spent any amount of time here. I want to learn everything."

Bruce is reminded for a brief and horrifying moment just how long Thor will be young, but Bruce doesn't believe in the long-term, not really, and he doesn't want to make more problems than there are. He swats that idiotic thought aside. "If half of mankind was as interested in anything as you're interested in everything, they would be a great deal more new and interesting."

"Thank you," Thor says, honestly touched. Bruce didn't laugh at this enthusiasm, which is rare. "This place is so remarkable. And humans are capable of so much more than any other race I've ever encountered. Good and evil, perhaps." He pats Bruce's hand absently.

Bruce looks at him hard. Thor does pay attention, doesn't he? He's not entirely made of wrongheaded chivalry. The badness before, with Hulk--that wasn't Thor being stupid or cruel. That was just Thor thinking too well of them both. He's obviously tried to adjust since then at every turn. "How often have humans been to Asgard?" he asks, quietly enough that it hide his impulsiveness.

Thor considers. "Not often," he confesses after a moment. "And never without trouble. My father is opposed to it. The only reason he allows any race into Asgard is as conquered subjects or for treaty negotiations, and since Midgard has little knowledge of the other Realms, he sees no need to let humans in."

"Hm," says Bruce. "I would like to go," and then, quickly, "I'm not angling for an invitation. But Asgard."

"I...perhaps someday." Then, in the interest of full disclosure, Thor adds, "I'm not sure how welcome my return would be, especially with a mortal. My father wants me there ruling, not visiting. But if I could take you there, I would. It's beautiful. And apparently scientifically interesting, or so Jane tells me." It occurs to him that he should stop mentioning Jane.

"She hasn't been there, though," Bruce says, and it dangles between a statement and a question.

"No," Thor says. "Despite wanting to very much. I doubt my father would ever allow that, since she's the person who opened the way for my return to Earth."

"I'm not sure I should have asked how your father was, before," Bruce says, frowning. He pauses to thank the waiter as their food arrives. "I--apologize if I've brought up anything I shouldn't have."

Thor is momentarily distracted by being pleased about the meat, so he answers less bitterly than he might. "It's all right. Of all of my family members, I find him easiest to talk about. It seems our type of relationship is not unfamiliar to most humans." He gives Bruce a sideways smile. "I think perhaps I was meant to rebel at a younger age, though."

Bruce gives him a sideways look. There's most of a smile in it, though. "Is...this," he asks, with a small, quick gesture encompassing pretty much everything, "...your _rebellious phase?"_

Thor flushes. "My father would certainly say so. You must understand, a god--especially a young god--running off to Midgard to befriend humans and refusing to come home and be responsible is..." He shrugs. "I don't think of it as a 'phase,' though."

"Huh," says Bruce. "No. Fair enough. I think my parents would have considered reading comic books a rebellious phase." He looks more closely at his food, but his attention is on Thor. "I'm going to stop asking about your family, now, because I don't know when it'll get offensive." He painstakingly does not refer to Loki with any fibre of his being. "So, do you have a science thing?"

Thor frowns. "Science...thing?" He takes a bite of meat so he doesn't have to answer immediately. Asking mortals to clarify their terminology usually buys him time, too. He finds, now that they're actually having a conversation, that Bruce's bluntness is very pleasant, if a little startling.

"I mean, do you find people who are professionally involved in the sciences attractive? Specifically? Because if I'm following up Jane--" His cheeks turn unexpectedly pink. "--then, you know, you're kind of developing a pattern. Scientists like patterns," he adds helpfully.

Thor laughs a little uncomfortably, toying with his fork. "It wouldn't bother you, then? But that's not it, I promise you. Jane was... _is_ a good friend. And I respect her work, at least what I understand of it. But I confess I found you intriguing before I was told of your profession." He's not used to admitting to crushes, but he's pretty sure that's what he's doing.

Bruce doesn't know what to make of being _intriguing_. Coming from Thor--who looks affable and a little worried and slightly too large for the space he's occupying--it doesn't sound like a threat. But if it isn't a threat, it practically begs Bruce to figure out what's so intriguing about him. Only the Hulk, as far as Bruce is aware. He hopes that isn't it.

He just says, "Huh!" and eats half his steak in under a minute with very particular attention.

Thor follows suit, frowning slightly. He feels as though he's always slightly out of sync with mortals. Maybe more so with Bruce, or maybe it just matters more. He doesn't like realizing how much it matters. "My apologies," he says after a moment. "I meant no offense. Would you rather I'd noticed Captain America?" _It's a joke,_ he adds silently and a little desperately, hoping that's obvious. His fork keeps bending in his grip.

Bruce looks at him, startled, and says, "Oh, no, no, I'm not--" He should probably learn not to brood in front of someone with the emotional responses of a golden retriever.

"Steve is an attractive man," he says instead, very seriously. "I notice that all the time." He picks up his wine glass.

For about one full second he manages to bite his tongue, and then he gives up and starts sniggering into his wine. It's the house red. He is going to try to avoid breathing it up his nose.

Thor stares for a second and then begins to laugh as well, too loudly for a nice, small restaurant. He's so relieved, though, that he hasn't done something stupid. He's got to stop worrying about that, but after his initial visit to earth and a distinct lack of worry about other people's feelings, he's probably overcompensating. "You," he says, still laughing, "are someone I'm very glad to have in my life, Doctor Banner."

Bruce finds himself more pleased than he is surprised. "Am I in your life? I guess I am," he says. He hesitates, and then says more quietly, "If someone had done what you--did, before. With him. And they weren't--listen, when you got here you were a real brat. But--you're--" Bruce sucks on his teeth, then finishes his wine, then finishes his thought. "Now, you're in the small category of people on this planet who actually try to be good. That's why I'm still talking to you. You didn't know. And it killed you knowing someone got hurt." He looks right at Thor, against his weaker judgment. "Your esteem means a hell of a lot."

Thor blinks. Then he grabs Bruce's hand across the table and squeezes it, because he's actually speechless for a second. "Thank you," he says quietly, after a moment. "I _am_ trying, and I want you to be all right. I'm glad that was clear. I'm going to kiss you now." Sometimes a warning is good, especially in Midgard, he's found.

Bruce says, not as faintly as he feels, "Good plan. Don't knock over the wine."

Thor carefully moves the wine and leans over the table to kiss Bruce firmly. His fingers dig into Bruce's wrist a little. Bruce struggles between the instinctive urge to seize up like a startled cat and the much more pleasant urge to sink into anything Thor wants to give him. He ends up trembling embarrassingly instead, but he grasps Thor's arm tightly and kisses back. He _thinks_ it goes well. It does not occur to him to worry about any of the tables around him.

Thor pulls back after a moment, grinning. Bruce tastes like wine. This tiny, meaningless fact is suddenly vastly important and exciting. Thor squeezes Bruce's hand again, just to make his point. This is good. When he can look away--he thinks maybe he's making Bruce uncomfortable--he glances around the restaurant to make sure no mortals are offended, as they often are, inexplicably.

"Hey," Bruce says. "We could finish all this off and go back to my place." He fumbles and adds, "You know you can learn a lot about mortals from their living spaces. Mine is shit. You've only seen the kitchen. That could be fun."

Thor is mostly sure Bruce isn't actually inviting him over just to give him a tour of his house. But only mostly. "Gladly," he says. He finishes off his wine is two swigs and sets it down hard on the table. "Shall we?"

"Yeah," Bruce says. He hails a waiter, who miraculously sees him and comes over.

While they're waiting for their check, Bruce nibbles the rest of his steak. "If you're keeping score with yourself," he says, "so far this is a very good date." He frowns. "Also Tony Stark has pulled through surprisingly."

"He's a good friend," Thor agrees, although he's not sure what he's doing is really agreeing. Bruce doesn't seem to like Tony much. "He's helped me learn many things about Midgard and dealing with humans."

Bruce is very happily interrupted by the check, which he pays, and then he stands up. Thor looks extremely sincere. (Thunder god! Bruce remembers. He shakes his head.)

"At some point," he says, "you're welcome to educate me on Stark's good points."

"Granted, some of his advice may not have worked out well in practice, but I doubt that was his fault." Thor stands as well and puts his arm easily around Bruce's waist. It feels right.

"Well come on," Bruce mumbles a little sheepishly, and extricates himself from Thor's arm to take his hand before he starts out of the restaurant.


	4. thor and bruce and hulk and hapless queer sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If I were fragile, I'd be dead," he says against Thor's throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: M/M explicit hapless consensual sex

The door of Bruce's apartment sticks and shuts in a familiar beat. He throws the deadbolt and tells himself to _stay calm._

This is sort of a new situation for that mantra.

"So this is the kitchen, which you know," he says, following Thor and swearing at himself.

Thor is starting to wonder if maybe Bruce _is_ just giving him a tour. But even he can tell that Bruce is nervous. Thor is--not quite nervous. This is something he's comfortable with. But not with Bruce. He's almost certain he'll do something wrong, and that it will _matter_ and he won't be able to take it back. "Mm," he says.

Bruce has caught up to him, and he opens his mouth to point out something that really doesn't matter, shoddy cabinets or trinkets that aren't even his, but he stops before he starts and stares beseechingly into Thor's face, open-mouthed.

"Bruce," Thor says softly. He takes Bruce's hand. "I want this to go well, too. I'm as nervous as you are." Probably not, but that doesn't matter.

"Right," Bruce says, pale. "So that does mean we're gonna screw now, right?"

"Only if you want to," Thor says quickly. _Screw, right._ He knows these terms. He's not panicking.

"Right," Bruce says, "I do. We could--now," he gestures. Normally this gesture would mean, _Something will solve this very important scientific problem and make it tidy so why can't I figure it out?_

Thor nods. "Good." He leans in and kisses Bruce. He could be gentle and careful, but he's done a lot of that today, so instead he goes with his instincts and uses his teeth. His hands tangle in the front of Bruce's shirt, and Bruce feels very small to him.

"Mmph," Bruce says, and he means it in a good way, so he hopes Thor doesn't stop to apologize. He gasps at Thor's teeth on his lips and fights back--no, not fights, he _can't_ do that--his tongue against the roof of Thor's mouth. He digs his fingers into the muscle of Thor's arms. Everything else is so stupidly covered in stupid Asgardian clothes.

He pulls back and pants, "Your Asgardian clothes are stupid in this situation."

"I couldn't agree more," Thor says distractedly. This is always a problem, even in Asgard, except then the other party has the same problem. Bruce, on the other hand--Thor fists his hand in Bruce's shirt and makes to rip it, but then it occurs to him that Bruce has probably had enough shirts ruined in his life. Instead, Thor lets go and sets about removing his own clothing.

Bruce isn't unmuscular (he has to keep _something_ from Hulk), but he's wiry, not big, and besides, Thor stands up straight. Bruce has two modes, which he can admit: hunching, and smashing.

He gets over himself long enough to pull his sweater over his head and unbutton the shirt underneath it. He would probably be moving faster if Thor weren't stripping off his stupid Asgardian clothes three feet away.

Thor casts away the rest of his clothes and stops to grin at Bruce. Bruce looks--nice. Very nice. Thor is surprised, actually. Meanwhile, Thor feels, as usual in Midgard, as if he's taking up too much space.

"It's proving difficult not to touch you," he says uselessly. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, but he does know that he doesn't want Bruce to flee.

"Well, getting past kissing is going to be difficult if you _don't_ touch me," Bruce tells him with one of those furrowed-brow sideways expressions. He doesn't quite make a move.

Thor steps across the space and kisses his again, this time letting his hands roam across Bruce's chest, stomach, waist.

It's almost frighteningly easy to sink into that. _Boneless_ is a word that describes other people. And invertebrates. Bruce hasn't--he's almost relaxing, and he hasn't done that since the Hulk was made.

"I feel a little scrawny," he mutters into Thor's neck, his hands digging slowly into Thor's back. "Next to you."

Thor strokes Bruce's hip absently, enjoying the feel of heat under his fingers. Bruce smells nice.

"All mortals are," Thor says softly, before nosing against Bruce's hair. "But you're not as fragile as I expected."

He sweeps his thumb over Bruce's hipbone and nips at Bruce's ear.

Bruce considers, running his nails down Thor's spine, and kissing the skin under Thor's jaw. He could flirt, or he could not.

"If I were fragile, I'd be dead," he says against Thor's throat. The kiss turns into a bite.

Thor gives a low, startled cry, and it's good. It's very, very good. His hands tighten on Bruce's hips, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.

He can't find the right words to express how grateful he is that Bruce is secretly, quietly strong, so he pulls Bruce more tightly against him instead.

"Your body feels amazing," he mutters. He's never learned to talk correctly in these situations, but he doesn't think Bruce will mock him, at least not unkindly.

"Oh!" Bruce says, stupidly, and then counts to five before he feels calm enough to run his hands from Thor's chest to his hipbones and say breathlessly, "But I meant it about the rest of the apartment. I even have a place to sleep."

"I think we should complete the tour as soon as possible, then," Thor says breathlessly back. It's all he can do not to slam Bruce up against a wall and fuck him right there. A bed would be better.

"Right," says Bruce for about the fifth time since they came through the door. "This way," he says, and herds-pushes Thor back and to the left and down the short, dark hallway into his slightly messy bedroom. He knocks an elbow against the light switch as they go by.

Thor doesn't want his hands to be off Bruce, so moving around is difficult. As soon as they're in the bedroom--this is close to what he thought it would look like--he sets about putting his hands all over Bruce again. He feels dizzy and very, very interested in getting Bruce on the bed. He gives him a gentle little shove, not letting go.

Bruce frees his hands for a moment to shrug the rest of the way out of his shirt, then reaches up to put his hands on Thor's face and pull him down for a kiss. He lets Thor push him down until he's flat on his back with Thor leaning over him.

Thor lets one hand glide up the inside of Bruce's thigh, not breaking the kiss. This is--different than with the Hulk, of course, but that's not important or relevant here. This is _good._ He groans and kisses Bruce harder, pressing against his body.

Bruce's fingers dig at Thor's ribs and push against his--Asgardians have waistbands? Somehow Bruce is surprised they wear anything underneath their shining war-garb. Maybe it’s only Midgardian transplants.

Bruce is so good at thinking about things that do not matter.

He kisses Thor just below his ear to remind himself, and presses his thigh against the warmth of Thor's body.

Thor shudders and grinds down against Bruce. He's suddenly afraid that he'll get this wrong and hurt Bruce, because despite Bruce's hidden reserves of strength, mortals are fragile. "Do you," he says, and his voice comes out so rough that he has to try again, "Do you want to fuck me?" _I just don't want to hurt you,_ he carefully doesn't say.

"I'm not," Bruce starts, but his heart is pounding too fast, it's hard to-- "I'm not particular," he finishes, hoping that's acceptable. He doesn't want Thor to think he won't, if that's what Thor wants.

Thor nods. It's a relief, since he's never--It's very hard to think right now. "All right, then, just tell me if I hurt you." He remembers Tony saying something and panics all over again, still pressed against Bruce. "Do we need...anything?" Oh, he is the world's most awkward god.

"Have any Asgardian venereal diseases I should know about?" Bruce asks. He can barely hear over the sound of his pulse.

Thor shakes his head. "No. No, I'm--no." He runs his nails lightly over the inside of Bruce's thigh.

Bruce flushes and whimpers and mangles the English language saying, "In the, we can, Vaseline'll--next time I'll-- _in the drawer."_ He flaps an arm in what is probably the correct direction.

Thor, while not quite clear on what Vaseline is, can certainly follow directions. He pushes himself upright with effort and retrieves it from the drawer, after some fumbling. "All right?" he asks, brandishing it. He gets the picture now.

Bruce is wriggling out of his underwear and nodding at the same time. He feels as though he's moving in all directions. He's half hard and it won't take all that much to--

"Put it on you," he tells Thor, panting, "and in me. If you want to be...gentle."

Thor makes an incoherent sound. Hearing Bruce _say_ it is--Yes. He rubs some of the Vaseline over his cock, forcing himself not to linger there. He's too close already.

He dips his fingers in the little tub and pushes Bruce's thighs apart gently. "I do," he says.

Bruce moans and covers his face with one arm. His other hand is clenched into the sheets, and he knows he's shaking. He feels like he might come apart, and he knows that's bad. But he spreads his legs when Thor asks for it, and doesn't tell him to stop.

Thor pushes one finger inside Bruce, slow and easy. He just _wants_ , but he's going to think past that and get this right. All of Bruce's skin feels so hot. Thor strokes the inside of Bruce's thigh with his free hand. "Is this all right?"

"Y-- _shit,"_ Bruce gasps, and it's not desperation; it's despair. "Shit," he says again, tearfully, and pulls away from Thor roughly and abruptly. "Stay calm," he says, his voice high. "Stay calm, stay calm. You can't do this to me, you fucking monster, you can't, you--" His voice cuts itself off in a shout, and he doubles over.

As he changes, he looks less and less frail.

"Bruce," Thor says flatly, but he knows that's not right. For the first time, he feels a wave of serious dislike for the Hulk, partly for ruining this and partly for making Bruce look like that. It wasn't a good expression.

"Hulk," Thor corrects himself. "You can't be here."

"Can be," Hulk corrects him belligerently. "Should be. Thor and Hulk have--bonding. No need for puny Bruce."

"Bruce is the one who first caught my attention," Thor says more sharply than he normally would. "What happened between us was a mistake. I care for you because I care for him,and you're a part of him. That's all." He feels extremely naked and for some reason he's thinking more clearly than usual. Probably because he's angry and worried and he has to get Bruce back.

Hulk snarls and flings his huge fist against the wall above the bedside table. He leaves a semi-circle of caving plaster that will be fixed either tomorrow or several months from now.

"HOW?" Hulk demands. "Bruce? Too weak! Hulk understands gods. Bruce understands--only shutting Hulk up. Understands fear. Not good enough for Thor. _I_ am not good enough for Thor?" He is breathing hard and his massive hands are still knotted into fists, but he is resisting the urge to break everything he sees.

Thor shakes his head slowly. "That's not it," he says. Only a few months ago, he would have agreed, but saying that would just make Hulk angrier. That's the opposite of what they need.

"You go together," he says. "I can't choose one of you and not the other. I accept you as part of him, but I'm not going to touch you again. We had dinner together. It was nice." That connects, somehow.

Hulk makes a noise of frustration that dwindles into something very nearly a whine. "Bruce love Thor so much," he says, "you ask him, does he mind you touch _both?"_

Thor crosses his arms. "This is something I should discuss with him, not you." He reaches out and pats Hulk's arm carefully, hoping it's soothing.

Hulk growls and jerks away. "Hulk always monster. Hulk always _disease._ Everyone thinks, but never think, Hulk is--real. Everyone forgetting, humans just dust and water. Weak. _Breaking._ But _feeling_ , makes real. Hulk is made out of what _he_ feels. Hulk is real."

Thor swallows. Talking to Bruce and Hulk about each other is--difficult. Painful. Too much like conversations he could have had and never did in Asgard. "I don't think you're a monster, you know," he says softly. "If I had, I never would have slept with you. But Bruce is the one I'm dating and he doesn't want me to be with you. I'm not dating you."

"ASK HIM," Hulk thunders. He turns away suddenly, shoulders slumping. He is done. He diminishes until he has grown back into Bruce, shaking and pale.

Thor wants to hold Bruce, but he doesn't want to intrude on his personal space, not with him looking like that. He says Bruce's name.

Bruce looks up, blinks, says, "Will he do that every time we try to fuck?"

Thor hesitates. "No," he decides. "I won't let that happen. But I think there are some...things that need to be worked out." He shifts over to Bruce and puts an arm around him.

Bruce hesitates, and then turns to put his arms around Thor. "I don't really want to sit here feeling naked and disappointed," he says. "I'd rather--rather be naked and not disappointed. If he's not going to come back."

Thor hates to admit how relieved he is. "If so, then I'll gladly continue." He runs a hand over Bruce's stomach. Bruce sighs, and tilts his head up to kiss Thor with his smile. He lays himself down before Thor can gently take too long, and spots the awful mess of the wall.

"Oh, for the love of--" he mutters, but that's all, and since it turns out Thor can banish Hulk _and_ kiss it better, he lets that go for now.

"Worry not," Thor says against Bruce's mouth. "It's only a wall." He finds the discarded tub of Vaseline again and slicks his fingers with it. He will try this until it works.

There is something vastly erotic about Thor's ridiculous syntax.

Thor is less careful with his fingers this time, being gentle but urgent. He wants Bruce to feel how much he wants it. "This time it's all right," he says, not a question.

Bruce, who has not up to this point quite gotten back into it, yelps embarrassingly, his legs going taut. "Y-yes," he stammers. "'s good." He shuts his eyes, opens them again, tries to relax himself around the pressure of Thor's fingers.

"Shh," Thor says under his breath, stroking Bruce's thigh and he slowly works his fingers inside. "You're all right." Seeing Bruce like this is breathtaking.

"Yes," Bruce whispers. His legs go a little more slack. One hand curls around the corner of a pillow. He hums and sighs as Thor's fingers move in him.

It turns out to be so easy to let Thor do this. Even with Hulk, it's still so easy.

"You look so good," Thor whispers, not even listening to himself. He works his fingers inside Bruce, still gentle but insistent. "I want to take you."

"Then do that please," Bruce answers, quirking a smile with his eyes closed. He manages to spread his legs a little bit wider, less invitation and more pointed comment.

Thor exhales loudly and withdraws his fingers. He aches with how much he wants Bruce, and it's making his head swim. He reaches up to twist one of Bruce's nipples as he positions himself against Bruce's body.

It's unexpected, and Bruce arches against Thor's hand, catalysed into an awful need. "Hurry. Get closer," he gasps. "You have to--touch me more. I want to _touch you."_

Thor gasps and nods. He pushes inside Bruce, just a little, taking it very slowly. But all he wants is to fuck Bruce until he screams. "I need to have you," he grits out through his teeth, and it's he most appropriate thing he can manage.

"Then fuck me already," Bruce gibbers back. He feels slightly insane, suddenly, with Thor teasing him partway in. "I promise you don't have to be so polite."

"Good, because I don't think I can be," Thor tries to say, but the words get lost as he pushes the rest of the way in, fast and steady. He groans and lets his hips pump a few times, rougher, less careful.

Bruce moans underneath him, reaches out, claws across Thor's shoulders and chest. His head is tilted back into the pillow, and he's gritting his teeth so hard it looks like pain.

Thor can't stop breathing through his nose so hard it feels like he's hyperventilating, and Bruce feels _so good._ Thor seizes Bruce's hips and digs his nails in as he fucks him.

Bruce only lies back and takes it for so long before it becomes unbearable. He leans up with a growl and yanks on a hank of Thor's hair. "Fucking _touch me,"_ he snarls.

"Right, yes, sorry," Thor mumbles, wrapping a hand around Bruce's cock. And oh, that's _perfect._

Bruce practically wails under him. He lets go of Thor's hair but his fingers tangle through it again a few seconds later. He doesn't seem to know what to do with his limbs anymore.

"Oh--" Thor says, and he can't form words beyond that. All of Bruce's skin feels like it's burning under him, and he can't move fast enough to feel everything he wants to feel. He gasps and cries out incoherently, hips stuttering against Bruce.

Bruce wraps his arms around Thor's neck and curls upward to bury his face against Thor's collarbone. "Think--I’m gonna come," he whimpers, voice breaking.

Thor swipes his palm up over the head of Bruce's cock, shaking at the feeling of Bruce's face against his skin, everything feeling too much at once.

" _Oh,"_ Bruce chokes out, and then cries out. He thinks he comes into Thor's hand. He can feel it on his stomach. He shivers, and holds Thor more tightly, and thrusts back hard against Thor's cock. He is going to be sore as hell, and it is going to be--wonderful.

"Oh, oh, I--" Thor doesn't have the words. " _Bruce,"_ he says, because nothing else is--he bites his lip hard so he won't make too much noise. Bruce pulls himself off Thor’s cock with a gasp and strokes him as he comes. 

"Shhh," Bruce says, the opposite of what he means. He tries to kiss Thor out of biting his lips.

Thor kisses Bruce clumsily and hard, feeling all of his body at the same time as feeling almost numb over an overload of sensation. "Yes."

"Relax," Bruce suggests, brushing Thor's hair back. It falls right into his face again, but that's not the point.

Thor exhales and lets himself do as Bruce says. Everything is slick with sweat, and he just wants--

"Sorry, I," he starts. "I, it's a lot." The words aren't useful, but Bruce is still touching him at all points.

Bruce pushes his hair back and holds it there, and says, into his sparkle-eyed, bristle-bearded, godly-cheekboned face, "So _now_ you're shy."

Thor is blushing furiously, but he doesn't mind. "A bit," he admits. It's something people never expect, which he supposes should be flattering.

"That's reassuring," says Bruce.

~

They lie in Bruce's bed long enough that the nice feeling cools down a little bit into a sticky, you-turned-into-the-Hulk-in-the-middle-of-sex-and-came-too-soon feeling. Thor still looks content enough, Bruce thinks, but he recognizes in himself the imminent moment when he spits out words he doesn't mean because he appalls himself.

"Hey," he says hoarsely, and coughs. "Hey, would you mind--could you talk to me? About anything. What you saw today when you were looking at...things."

Thor props himself up on his elbow and regards Bruce. Bruce is looking a little--something not good. Thor reaches out and runs his fingers down Bruce's side. He never knows what to say after sex, so being told is nice.

"Certainly," he says softly. "I was just thinking about how odd the hierarchy of power in Midgard is. You have no king or queen of your entire realm. I saw a...something on television about your 'president.' It made me think." He strokes Bruce's side thoughtfully.

Bruce relaxes and leans slightly closer. "Oh good," he says. "Politics. It's really just--it's not because human governments work better when they're smaller. _That's_ a total lie. But all our cultures grew up separate from each other, little groups of people, and we're not suddenly all in agreement just because we can instantly communicate with someone on the other side of the globe. A world government would have no identity. It wouldn't know what ground to start with. And no matter what they did, every smaller government would protest. It would eat itself alive."

Thor nods thoughtfully and continues exploring Bruce's skin with his fingers. "I see. I still have much to learn about Midgard. Perhaps it's simply larger than my Realm. Larger, but full of so many commoners." He frowns. "Why is it that magic and what you call _mutation_ are so ill-regarded?"

"Oh, I don't know," Bruce says a little crossly, fidgeting under Thor's hands. He pushes his hand through Thor's hair and then draws back, blushing. "Humans are afraid of difference. Of not conforming. Which, yes, I realize is a terrible irony considering what I just said about the heterogeneity of human culture. But difference _inside_ a culture? It means either you're diseased, or you are a disease. You know, a weak link, or an enemy inside the wall."

Thor nods slowly and inclines his head toward Bruce. "Mm. That felt nice. Do it again." He's silent for a moment, considering. He has to talk to Bruce about what Hulk said at some point, but despite having a good opening, he is _not_ going to ruin this moment. "My people have similar feelings," he says, thinking of his brother. "But we're better at keeping differences out." His mouth twists bitterly. Bitterness still feels unfamiliar enough to be jarring in its unpleasantness.

Impulsively, Bruce levers himself up and gives Thor a kiss. He remembers after a moment what Thor said, and puts a hand up to tighten in Thor's hair. His tongue slips under Thor's upper lip, but he doesn't push.

Thor shuts his eyes and brings his arms up around Bruce. "Mm," he says into Bruce's mouth. He feels, if only for a moment, that he's being protected by this fragile, tiny human. It doesn't seem all that ridiculous.

Bruce lets the kiss linger until the arm he's leaning on starts to ache. Then he pulls away and lies back, his hand still stroking Thor's hair. It's soft as well as pretty, which gives Bruce an odd moment of wondering if gods' hair is just like that, or if Thor conditions.

"I don't think you have that problem," he says gently. "I don't think 'we' is the right word."

Thor feels a sudden rush of wanting to be completely honest. Not that he's in the habit of hiding things, but he wants Bruce to know. "I used to be such a child about anyone who wasn't like me," he says quickly. "It's not that far in my past. I don't want you to think me a better man than I am." Bruce's hand in his hair is very distracting.

Bruce says matter-of-factly, "You're not afraid of me. You're patient. You've listened. And I could be wrong but," he pauses, but broaches the subject, "I'm pretty sure you love your brother more than anyone else in--the worlds. And you have good reasons for being here and not at home." He runs his other hand down Thor's arm. "I don't know. I think you might have to fight awfully hard for a place in the horrible bigots society."

Not for the first time this evening, Thor doesn't know what to say. Finally, he just says, "Thank you." Then he laughs. "You see? We do have things to talk about after all." Bruce's fingers are giving him goosebumps, so he traps one of Bruce's hands in his.

Bruce sucks in a tiny gasp. "I guess so," he says. He tentatively slides one knee up against Thor's ribs, and his hand trails from Thor's hair to his wrist. He holds on more tightly than he means to, but he doesn't imagine Thor will mind. He tries to keep Thor's eyes on his, and hopes they'll say something like what to do next.

Thor leans in and kisses Bruce, keeping his eyes open this time. Watching Bruce react is gorgeous. He slides one hand down to squeeze Bruce's leg, digging his nails in a little. Bruce seems not to mind that. "This is--good," he says, although it seems unnecessary.

Bruce half-gasps and half-chuckles into his mouth. He pulls away with the hand Thor is holding, just to see what Thor's instincts are.

Thor tightens his fingers, catching Bruce's wrist and squeezing. He thinks Bruce won't actually try to escape, but he pays attention in case he's wrong. He shifts so Bruce's body is partially trapped by his. There's none of the frantic, desperate heat of earlier, but he thinks this is better. He doesn't feel half mad with it, at least.

Bruce moans and pushes back against the weight of Thor's hand, only enough to feel it. His leg wraps around Thor's back, and his nails dig sharply into Thor's other wrist.

Thor breathes in sharply. "You--You're quite flexible." He likes the feeling of Bruce wrapped around him. He presses harder on Bruce's wrist, just to see. He's rarely been with someone who _did_ push back like this.

Bruce snorts, and strains against Thor's hand, and lets go of his wrist to give his dangling hair a vicious yank.

Thor gives a low cry and grinds against Bruce automatically. He's already hard again, but he's enjoying taking this slowly. He ducks his head and bites Bruce's collarbone, darting his tongue out over the mark his teeth leave.

"Oh, _fuck_ you," Bruce gasps, wriggling. His free hand skitters across Thor's back, but everything feels slightly beyond his grasp. He hooks his free foot behind Thor's knee and digs in with his heel.

Thor grunts and rocks against Bruce, finding new ways to dig his fingers into Bruce's wrist and hand. He wants to leave Bruce some freedom so he doesn't get claustrophobic. He shifts and takes Bruce's nipple in his teeth, tugging lightly. For a moment, Bruce goes still, and then he shudders, whimpering. His knee presses against Thor's back, but he's not resisting anymore.

Thor sighs, pleased, and shifts against Bruce, rocking his body against Bruce's gently. He leans up and nips Bruce's earlobe, feeling like a curious dog. He huffs a little laugh against Bruce's ear.

Bruce is flushed and dazed and he wants to beg Thor to keep being...insistent, but for the moment anyway, he can't find his tongue. Thor's laugh in his ear, Thor's weight pinning him, gives him the sensation of being _owned._ He can't crawl out of it enough to make any demands.

Thor covers Bruce with his body, bearing down on him with the steady pressure of his weight. He kisses his way along Bruce's jaw, with a sharp nip for every kiss. He reaches Bruce's mouth and bites his bottom lip gently, sucking and tugging at it with his teeth.

Bruce presses down into the bed underneath him, panting out little noises at every touch of Thor's mouth. " _Please, please, please,"_ he whines breathlessly. He thinks he might be trembling.

"Tell me what you want," Thor says on a whim. He's been told that no one is worse at dirty talk than he is, but he really, really wants to hear Bruce say it, say _anything._ He gives an insistent little shove against Bruce.

Bruce stares at him with a sudden burst of dizzy anxiety ( _What am I_ supposed _to say?_ he wonders) and his mouth works a few times before he says, strangely, "I--I don't know. _Now?_ I--" He pauses to swallow and blink, trying to sort through all the pictures in his head for something he can manage to say aloud. "I--" Where is all his bluntness when he needs it? He swallows again, and says, breathless, a little shakey, but clear, "I want you to hold me down and fuck me from behind."

Thor makes a sound without meaning to, sort of a breathless, muttered, _nnnhh_ sound. His hands have gone numb and the rest of him tingles with sudden, crushing, blind want. "Then turn over," he says roughly, making the command unnecessary by practically lifting Bruce and shoving him onto his stomach.

Bruce grunts and lifts himself onto his knees and elbows, his arms straight out and his fingers embedded in the sheets. He is shaking, but he refuses to look back at Thor. Instead he squeezes his eyes shut and ducks his head.

Thor gets the Vaseline again, too desperate to have time to fumble with it. He rubs some of it over his cock, but he doesn't touch Bruce. He wants Bruce to feel this, he realizes in a rush that feels oddly protective. "Ask," he says, leaning over Bruce to pin one of his wrists.

Bruce chokes on a whine and whispers hoarsely, "Please fuck me."

Thor grits his teeth and pushes inside Bruce, faster this time, rougher. His other hand falls over Bruce's other wrist, squeezing hard.

Bruce gasps in and can't breathe out for a few seconds. Thor's cock is sudden and slick and stretching him open. There's no _time_ to breathe. He's too hot and too dizzy and he's so hard he can barely think. _What if Hulk comes back?_ he wonders for half a second, and the idea is so painful that he chokes in a breath out of shock. He breathes it in as a sob, and then he can't stop.

It takes Thor a second, but he realizes the sounds Bruce is making aren't _good_ sounds. He slows. He doesn't slide out of Bruce, but he does ease up on his wrists. "Bruce?" he says carefully. "Are you all right?"

"Please don't stop," Bruce gasps. "Please don't. It's okay. It's not you. Please don't stop."

Thor nods and squeezes Bruce's wrists harder again, hoping to ground him a little. "You're here," he says, not quite listening to himself and he moves inside Bruce. "You're here, and you're mine." He punctuates _mine_ with a hard thrust.

Bruce still sobs, but the reason is changing. Thor fucks him and he moans and cries and feels ashamed of being ashamed, and feels so good he thinks he might die of it. He waves his fingers feebly, trying to catch Thor's with his own.

Thor winds his fingers through Bruce's leans over him until he feels as though he's surrounding him. "So good," he whispers. "You're so good." He fucks Bruce faster, awkwardly arrhythmical as he tries to make it last. Bruce almost wonders if he should answer, but he can't; he's tongue-tied. He jerks back against Thor, halting and akward and agonizingly hard. He thinks, suddenly, _I could say something about_ that. But when he opens his mouth only noises come out.

Thor makes a sound that is practically a growl and bears down against Bruce's body. He releases one of Bruce's wrists to run his hand over Bruce's stomach, his nails digging in there. He avoids touching Bruce's cock at all.

Bruce cries out, his elbows buckling. He winds up splayed with his face flat against the bed, his free hand clutching at the sheet beneath his cheek. "Please," he moans jaggedly, eyes squeezed shut, spine taut. " _Please."_

"I, yes," Thor breathes, and now he does touch Bruce, jerking him in rhythm with the thrusts. "I, I'm close," he manages, feeling the same prickling numbness in all the parts of his body that aren't on fire.

Bruce half-sobs and half-laughs into the blankets, but his breath hitches as Thor's hand moves on him. "You can--come inside," he pants. "If you want."

Hearing Bruce say it is enough to push him over the edge. He cries out as he comes, his body shuddering against Bruce's back as he thrusts deep inside.

Bruce gags himself on the blankets and lets out a strangled, " _Mmphgh,"_ arching downwards with the sensation of Thor's cum inside him. He's hideously close, Thor's hand tight but frozen on his cock.

Thor recovers fast enough this time to remember to keep touching Bruce. He strokes Bruce's cock again, hard and fast. "You can come now," he mutters, flushing so deeply that he's glad Bruce can't see him. The permission and the rough touch of Thor's hand mix together in Bruce's head. Then he sees stars, and he is shouting (wailing) into his blankets, and coming hard in Thor's hand.

Thor buries his face in the back of Bruce's neck, just catching his breath. "Oh," he says stupidly. He feels relaxed and sluggish, his body and his thoughts. "Mm."

Bruce relaxes his knees, sliding free of Thor's cock, and laborious turns himself onto his back. The blankets are damp and sticky. So is his ass, incidentally. This is completely revolting, but Bruce feels practically cheerful about it. He puts his hands up to touch Thor's sides. "Relax," he says, like before.

Thor nods silently, leaning into Bruce's touch. He always gets quiet and incoherent after sex, and usually no one waits for him to catch back up. "Thank you," he murmurs. It feels strange, after doing that, to have Bruce telling _him_ to relax.

Bruce puts his arms around Thor and pulls him close, until he's a solid, steadying weight, warm and heavy, against Bruce's body.

"That wasn't so hard," he whispers.

"Next time we won't be so nervous," Thor says quietly, unable to keep from grinning. He relaxes against Bruce, exhausted and pleased.

"Huh," says Bruce. "I guess not." He yawns. "I think I'm going to be unconscious in about forty-five seconds."

Thor nuzzles him. "Then I'll ask quickly. Can I stay?"

"Yes," Bruce says, almost quizzically, but he realizes Thor has reason to wonder. "Yes," he says more certainly. "You should stay."

The last piece of relief slots into place and Thor practically goes boneless against Bruce. "Mm. Good. I wasn't sure--" He's halfway to sleep before he can complete the thought. "I'm glad," he mumbles instead.

Bruce thinks very hard about answering, but only gets as far as tugging a blanket over them and thinking vaguely _I have to fix that wall_ before he is deeply and peacefully asleep.


	5. thor is made to have lunch with tony stark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Um," says Tony, and he has to think about this, because there are really two items in his sexy repertoire, and one of them involves never fucking the same person twice, and the other involves Steve, or, never fucking the same person once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings!

Tony is on his way to lunch when he sees Thor. Thor is posed regally before the fountain that stands between Tony and his lunch plans, arms crossed, thoroughly and typically out of place, looking at the sky as though it's telling him something extremely important. Of course, for all Tony knows, it is. A number of people are giving Thor the kind of eye you give when you live in a city and don't want to look interested, or incur the rage of a crazy person.

Tony isn't worried about this particular crazy person. He swoops in (not literally, of course) and says, "Thor! How nice to see you. Tell me, how'd that restaurant work out for you?"

Thor is not easily rattled, but something about Tony always puts him on edge a little. He likes Tony, so he suspects it's just that he's been told repeatedly to be wary of him. He turns, startled, to look at him.

"Ah, Iron Man," he says loudly. "Yes, the restaurant was just right. Not too fancy." He feels proud for having learned these Midgardian remarks on the nature of restaurants. "Good steak," he adds.

"Right," says Tony. "Speaking of restaurants. This is my lunch break. Come on, I'll treat you." He saunters past in a way that is more or less designed to make anyone he's talking to forget to protest.

Thor regards Tony's retreat impassively for a moment before shrugging and falling into step next to him.

"My thanks," he says. He's meant to be making friends with his team, after all, and despite the violent objections some of them have to Tony, Thor wants to be friends with _everyone._ Especially fascinating mortals.

Tony keeps up a steady stream of abrupt sentences that may or may not connect, all the way into the restaurant. He pauses long enough, when the waiter stops by their table, to look at Thor earnestly and say, "Trust me," before he spits out another burst of words and the waiter goes away, presumably with their orders.

"This _is_ too fancy," Tony says. "Especially for lunch. Ridiculous. Luckily I have a large disposable income. I don't mind eating by myself, by the way, but I don't know about you. You weren't asking about reasonably priced kind of romantic restaurants so you could sit alone and commune with the candles, I'm guessing."

Thor raises his eyebrows and waits long enough to make sure the question is one he's actually supposed to answer. Sometimes Tony just asks questions and keeps on going. It used to offend Thor's pride, but he's getting better at having a more normal amount of that.

"No," he says. "I have little magical skill." That one is on purpose. "I had a date," he confesses. "With one of our teammates." He looks at his fork and clarifies, "With Bruce." He sees little sense in hiding it or lying.

Tony's eyebrows go up, which he would have done on purpose except they did it on their own. He'd heard _something_ about Thor and...the Hulk, of all things. But he hadn't heard very much, for him, and it was improbable to begin with.

It was a lot more improbable, actually, to think Thor could have gotten Bruce Banner to go _out_ on a _date._

"Bruce _Banner?"_ Tony checks. "Sullen scientist by day, mean green smashing machine by--day? That Bruce?"

Thor nods carefully. "Yes. And it was very pleasant." And awkward, and followed by more pleasant and awkward things, but he doesn't feel the need to tell Tony everything.

"He chose good wine," he says, because that seems neutral. "I think we're going to do it again soon." He'd like that, he realizes, enough that he's spent a lot of time thinking about it in the past few days. He hopes it's all right to tell Tony, but he thinks of all the people he could tell, Tony is one of the safer ones. Steve seems like he'd be awkward about these matters.

Tony grins and raps out something that is not quite a rhythm on the table. The waiter brings by water--or rather, ludicrously expensive water in a bottle and two showy glasses--and wine (like the water, but more expensive and more likely to make Pepper frown at him). Tony says, "Bruce Banner is an interesting fellow. Smart guy. Hard to find when he wants to vanish, which, not gonna lie, makes _me_ a little jealous. No offense to your chiseled good looks, but I'm surprised you got him to go anywhere." Not surprised about the wine, though; alcoholic snobbery is practically an automatic acquisition in higher education.

Thor smiles. "I was surprised as well, especially given his penchant for disappearing. It took some work. And some...I believe some of you might call it stalking. Waiting, anyhow. But when he emerged, he was happy to go on...a date." Happy and nervous and prickly, but again, Thor passes along only the relevant facts.

Thor pours himself some wine and accidentally finds himself blushing when he's reminded of dinner and Bruce and afterwards.

A smirk curls up Tony's mouth. He pours himself a glass of wine and downs most of it, then says, "Stalking was definitely not on my short list of ways to get Bruce Banner into bed. All things considered? Little bit kinky." He finishes his wine, the food appears, and he sends the waiter away feeling appreciated. "I'm sure that hasn't come up, yet, though. Getting laid on the first date? Guy always looks like if you touched him he'd end up biting or crying. If he didn't end up as the Hulk. No offense to your taste in--huh, I wasn't even sure you _had_ a taste in gentlemen."

There are a lot of things there for Thor to respond to. It's a little (okay, a lot) alarming the number of things Tony's gotten right. Thor goes for the safest topic, which is the only one about him and not Bruce.

"I do," he says, shrugging. "And ladies. In Asgard--" He's about to say it's not as frowned on in Asgard, but then he thinks maybe that only counts if you're a son of Odin, or maybe only if you're _him._ Instead he says, a little defensively, "Anyhow, Bruce is wonderful if you know how to talk to him." Thor doesn't completely, yet, but he will.

Tony says, "Well, I'm fascinated. That's roast duck on your plate, by the way. They never do greasy duck here. It's hard not to like you, anyway. I mean, I personally don't think I could handle sleeping with someone who has so much honor..." He gestures at Thor's whole self and then bites his duck, which isn't greasy. "But I can see the appeal!"

Thor opens his mouth to say something, realizes he'd better not, and says it anyway. "Perhaps that's because of your low self-esteem." He's heard the term used, almost always in reference to Tony, about ninety times since he came to Midgard. And he doesn't want his honor insulted. He takes a bite of duck so he won't say anything else. It's not as good as what they have in Asgard, but it's good.

Tony keeps smiling, but it sticks a little. Finally he says, "What on Earth would I be doing with low self-esteem? No, I think it's that I don't like feeling guilty, Mr. Too-Good Guy. You go around being noble and right and Lord of Thunder, kinda makes it hard for everybody else to walk around being middling-good without feeling bad about it." He shrugs, and adds casually, "On the other hand, maybe being a force of mass destruction like the Hulk means a little extra valor in your boyfriend can't make you feel worse than you already do."

"Enough," Thor snaps, needled to the point of losing his temper. He's very good-natured right up until he's not. He's the God for Thunder for a reason. "Bruce's problems are none of your affair, just as your lack of self-worth when it comes to your infatuation with Steve is none of mine."

Thor is not observant, but there are some things even he can't miss.

That takes the wind out of Tony's sails. He floats there, dead in the water for the length of a too-long pause. At last he says shakily, "I'm sorry. For the last thing." He can't quite say the true thing, which was that all he wanted was to hear something vicariously hopeful. "I can't help it being true you're too honorable for me, though," he adds, as jauntily as possible.

Thor nods. "I'm sorry as well. I...feel very protective of Bruce. Because no one else will be. He's...important to me." Thor is trying to choose the right combination of words, but it's hard enough that he chooses the honest ones instead. "I think perhaps we're dating." He doesn't know the Midgardian rules for going on a date and having sex and whether that adds up to dating, but he hopes so.

Tony's smile repairs itself. "Now that's what I like to hear," he says. "Sorry again, I'm told I'm incredibly rude. Really I'm just interested. And I won't even tell anyone! Does Asgard have the paparazzi? I wouldn't wish it on anyone." He shrugs. "Well. Maybe one or two people."

Thor shakes his head. "We do not, but gossip travels anyhow." He thinks horribly, guilty, of Loki, and then he thinks of what Asgard would say about him and Bruce, and rather, him and the Hulk. "I'd rather not discuss the details with the other Avengers," he adds. "We're not hiding it, but Bruce is very...private. I'm sure you've noticed."

"Like I said," Tony answers, "I wish I could disappear like that."

"It's frustrating," Thor confesses. "He's very tricky to pin down." And no, wrong words, because now he's thinking of last night again and blushing furiously. He takes a large sip of wine to hide it.

Tony laughs. "I hear you have a mighty hammer," he points out (very carefully assumes he's not going too far). "I hazard to guess that might be good for pinning."

Thor blushes even more and nearly chokes on his wine. It would be much less embarrassing if he hadn't heard the same suggestion, meant always entirely literally, from various Asgardians in the past. Including his brother.

"My hands sufficed," he says with all the dignity he can muster and more honesty than he intended.

Tony stares at him. "God, I love you," he says. "Not in a 'fuck-me' sense. Also I'm not referring to you as God, I know your name and everything. But really, you're precious, it's great. And so nice you don't appear to hate me now. Wow."

Thor smiles, a little charmed. He really doesn't have it in him to hate someone like Tony. "I know many more objectionable people, many of them in Asgard," he says. "I can hardly cast aside a friend from a little rudeness. If so, I doubt I would have dinner with Bruce again." Of course, Tony's rudeness and Bruce's are of a slightly different variety. Slightly.

"Well, that's a relief," Tony says, and glances at his watch. "Did you know," he says, frowning at it conversationally, "that I am the spoiled child CEO of a massive corporation, that I have invented weapons that could destroy nations, that I am attractive and charismatic and very good with the ladies--" He looks up with an expression that brooks no argument. "Very good," he emphasizes, "with the ladies. And I still only get a thirty-minute lunch. You can stay and enjoy if you want. They know who to charge." He sticks a piece of duck unceremoniously into his cheek (like a chipmunk) and gets up to go.

"A moment," Thor says, standing as well. "I need one more piece of advice. I'm still not well-versed in Midgardian dating, and I...You must promise not to tell anyone I discussed this with you, before I ask."

Tony frowns. "I promise. I mean that."

Thor nods and lowers his voice. "I need to know what an acceptable next step is if I've had dinner with Bruce once and sex with him twice. Where do I go from here?"

"Um," says Tony, and he has to think about this, because there are really two items in his sexy repertoire, and one of them involves never fucking the same person twice, and the other involves Steve, or, never fucking the same person once.

Tony says, "You could try being friends. You know. Do what friends do. Go places you like? Hang out at each other's--do you have a place to live? Do you even sleep? Whatever. Go over to his place on a weekend and order pizza and watch dumb movies. Dinner is basically an interview. Sex is great, but it doesn't constitute a relationship." How true that is. He shrugs. "Do something fun. Or do nothing and just see if you actually like each other."

The closest Tony gets to this is pretending that Pepper is hanging out with him on purpose instead of getting paid, but he is fairly certain that it's sound advice for other people.

Thor lights up, delighted. "Thank you! This is very useful, friend. I feel as though I know what I'm doing now." He at least has ideas to work from, which is more than he had before. He just hopes Bruce likes some things. Everyone must like something.

"I'll try that," he says, slapping Tony on the shoulder. "And I'll tell you how it worked at a future lunch. Thank you for the duck."

"Of course," Tony says. He leaves, and leaves behind a hefty tip.

He's pleased and a little forlorn at the same time. He's not, in fact, weirder or more incapable of reciprocated crushes than a socially blundering (if very charming) thunder god and a kind of emo scientist who occasionally destroys millions of dollars in property. Right? He shouldn't be, anyway. He almost feels encouraged. He almost feels lonelier than when he stepped into the plaza.

Confidence is the only answer, ever. When he walks back into his office, Pepper says, "You're late. S.H.I.E.L.D. and Captain America both called. They both want to know if you're finishing that commission or not."

"And what did they want the answer to be?" Tony asks, sliding into his exquisitely comfortable chair.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. hoped yes. Cap hoped no."

"Let's disappoint everyone," Tony says. "Tell them it'll be ready in a month. By then I should have decided whether to build it or not."

"Tony," Pepper says warningly.

"Pepper," says Tony. "I would also like some coffee. If you get me coffee, I'll talk to them myself."

Pepper stalks away in irritation, but Tony conveniently forgets how to feel bad about that. He picks up the phone instead, and calls Nick Fury to piss him off a little.


	6. hulk and bruce make kind of a truce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hulk is sulking in the way volcanoes sulk. Bruce sighs again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: implied past dubcon

Thor spends the rest of the afternoon wandering happily in the city, continuing his quest to explore. It never ceases being awe-inspiring. His in a fantastic mood after this lunch with Tony and Tony's advice, but there's still a bit of nagging worry. He told Hulk he'd talk to Bruce. He probably owes all three of them that, but it promises to be a difficult and unpleasant conversation.

He waits until he's certain Bruce will be finished at work before going there and, for once, knocking. He's in civilian clothes now, having decided it would put Bruce in a more comfortable state of mind.

Bruce spots Thor before he's all the way outside, through the window on the second floor. When he emerges at the bottom, he says, "Hi."

He has the impression that Thor will be hurt if he looks skeptical or wary at all, so he tries to look pleased instead. He is pleased, and actually he still feels more good than embarrassed about last night, so it's not hard.

Thor beams at him. "Bruce." He finds that just seeing Bruce makes him much happier and much less worried about having a difficult conversation. Having Bruce solid and smiling in front of him is less worrying than some nebulous idea.

"I had lunch with Tony," he says, just to get it out of the way. "What did _you_ do today?"

Bruce checks an eye-roll halfway through and manages to turn it into looking at Thor, instead. He says, "Science. I did science. Today we learned no new things. A small herd of undergrads got lost and ended up in our lab, so that was fun." The last word feels a little strange on his tongue, but oh well.

Thor smiles and puts his arm around Bruce. It's less calculated and more comfortable today. "I know not of 'undergrads,' but I'm glad you enjoyed yourself." Bruce smells nice. Maybe he smells like lab, actually, but Thor doesn't care. He smells like himself.

Bruce tolerates the arm long enough to say, "I didn't expect you. That's not a complaint." He accidentally breaks free to glance down the street in both directions. When he turns back to Thor his hands are stuck in his pockets. "Did you want--any particular thing?"

"I thought," Thor says, "we could have pizza. Or watch a movie." He's still not _entirely_ sure how movies work, but people seem to like them, so he's willing to try. "If you're interested," of course. He supposes the difficult conversation can happen afterwards. But no. No, it has to happen before, or it won't happen. He's not a coward, but he hates upsetting Bruce.

"Sure," says Bruce, and then smiles properly, because this is strangely normal--which he recognizes even though it's not normal to _him._

"Wonderful," Thor says, pleased that he's gotten this, at least, right. "You see? Tony's advice is trustworthy after all. Twice in a row." He reflects that he probably could have pretended it was his own idea.

"Hmm," Bruce says noncommittally. He could do without Tony Stark, but he's not really angry. "Well, I have a couple things at home, anyway. And I know all the good carry-out." The last part comes out sardonic. By-product of hermetic bachelordom.

"Wonderful!" Midgardian food may not be as good as Asgardian food, but much of it is more exciting to Thor. "I wish to try it all. Eventually," he amends. He puts his hand on the small of Bruce's back, less confining than an arm around a shoulder. "I like your home," he adds.

"Good," says Bruce, and he's pretty sure it is.

He leads them back to his door, anyway, and feels almost comfortable putting his things down with Thor trailing in behind him. It's new, it's odd, but he--

No. He can't say that yet.

"There're menus on the fridge," he says, pointing, and wanders into the bathroom. At one point in the hallway he thinks, _Norse god reading a takeout menu!_ It's sort of a relief that this idea is still very strange.

Thor ponders the menus with their largely unfamiliar dishes. He likes being here. It feels right, and safe, although he didn't know he needed safe until he had it. He really, really doesn't want to bring up Hulk-related problems now. And doing it before they eat is probably an even worse idea. He wishes he were better at hiding his emotions. He picks out a menu that looks appealing at decides on something he's never heard of before. _Chicken lo mein_ sounds promising.

Bruce reappears and looks around Thor's arm. "Endless choice. Terrifying, isn't it?" he says drily. He looks up at Thor to check--that things are okay? How pathetic.

But maybe right.

"Is it the menu?" he asks, eyebrows raised.

"I," Thor says, then, because it's too late not to, "No, but I think we need to have a conversation." He still isn't used to these adult relationships that involve talking, and he feels faintly ill.

Bruce pulls back, full-body tense almost before he hears what Thor is saying.

"Which one?" he asks, and his voice is so neutral it doesn't even sound hurt.

"Wait," Thor says, aware that he's once again said the wrong thing. "I still care for you. I still want to be with you. Not that conversation. I wouldn't have made this a date and then had that conversation. But...it's about something Hulk said."

Bruce is reassured in one direction and more upset in another. He didn't realize he _would_ be so upset. He realizes he's backed himself into the doorway between the kitchen and the dining nook.

"What does he want?" Bruce asks, voice still lying, horribly unfazed while Bruce clutches his wrists behind his back.

Thor wants so badly to soothe Bruce, but there isn't any way while having this conversation. But Thor thinks he's just as bad at this conversation as Bruce is. "A lot of things," he says, then, more honestly, "me. He wants to know why he can't..."

Bruce feels an awful revulsion cutting through him, but he still can't articulate why it's terrible, why it's _wrong._ He can see it, though, in his mind's eye. He can feel Thor's body against his, and he can see Hulk's body against Thor's. He can feel it like nausea at the back of his throat.

"Oh," he says hoarsely.

The sound of his own voice breaks it, somehow. They were just supposed to get pizza. Hulk moving against Thor. Bruce's body, without him there.

He chokes, suddenly blinded by stupid, useless tears.

Thor wishes he hadn't said anything, but he feels as though he owes Hulk something. But Bruce should never look like this. Thor has to fix it.

"I'm not asking," he says carefully. "He is." It's not fair, because he's also curious about how the boundaries between Bruce and his other half work, but he doesn't want to do anything else that will make Bruce hunch in on himself. Or, oh no, _cry._

"It's all right," Thor adds, more softly and with more confidence.

 _Don't be stupid,_ Bruce tells himself, and he makes himself breathe, and makes himself look at Thor, and he can't get his nails to stop digging through the paint on the wall behind him, but there have to be casualties.

"Do you think," he forces out, "that. I _should_ let him?"

"No," Thor says swiftly. Then he stops. "I think...it might be complicated. I don't think he sees the two of you the way you do. I want you to choose what the rules are between us, but I don't want to do him a disservice. I think hurting him more will only make him angrier, and...Well, I don't want more of your walls ruined." He gives Bruce a rueful, hopeful smile.

Bruce makes an awful (it sounds awful from where he's standing) gasping-out noise, and runs his hand roughly through his hair. "What does he see?" he asks, instead of answering any of Thor's not quite spoken questions. He feels the itch of a teardrop stuck in place on his cheek. He leaves it where it is.

Thor wants to move closer, but he doesn't dare. Bruce looks tiny and fragile and also somehow dangerous.

"He thinks you're weak," he says, not bothering to sound apologetic. "You must already know that, though. But he's--He feels as though you shut him up, and...I think that scares him." He shrugs, realizing it sounds absurd. "And he asked if I thought he wasn't good enough for me." Maybe if Bruce sees that Hulk is afraid of things, of some of the _same_ things...

Bruce closes his eyes and rubs his forehead with one hand, the other still braced behind him against the wall. Eventually the hand on his forehead balls itself into a fist in his hair.

"Okay," he says. "Okay. I guess we agree, then." He laughs, and a tear hits him in the nose on its way down. "It's easier not to be guilty if you don't--"

"Stop," Thor says. "Just…don't." He clears his throat, hurting with surprising acuteness at the realization that he's causing Bruce pain just by being nice. But it doesn't mean he'll stop being nice.

"I'm just trying to make this work," he says. "I...It may surprise you to know that I need you very much." It doesn't surprise Thor to realize, exactly. But other people never expect those sentiments of him.

Bruce lets go of his hair, unbends a little. He meets Thor's eyes, now, and says, not to be distracted, "I'm his monster."

"Oh," Thor says. "I. Yes, I see. I'm sorry that you're...stuck with one another." He risks a step toward Bruce, hoping it's comforting. "But you are stuck. There must be a way to make this work." A way to make everyone, if not happy, at least into something that _runs right._

Bruce shakes his head. "No, I mean-I mean it's easier to _be that_ if--argh, " he adds, frustrated at himself and Hulk and also Thor, feeling like someone has just ripped a scab off of him like a snake skin. "It's easier to be someone else’s monster if you never have to look at them," he tries to explain. He hopes Thor can't tell how hard it is not to keep crying.

Thor nods slowly. He...understands that. Many things about Bruce brush up against things in the edges of Thor's life, and that hurts, but it also helps.

Instead of fumbling through reassurances, he asks a question he suddenly realizes he should have asked a long time ago. "How well do you remember your time spent as him?"

Bruce takes a deep breath and leans against the wall. "Not enough," he admits. "I remember people--usually the right ones--and I can sort of feel what we...do. Like I'm asleep, sort of. I can feel what he feels, as a--as a person. Emotionally. But it's not the same as me, even if trigger it. I'm not sure how that works." He crosses his arms and thinks about this. No one who's asked (not many people) has been someone he wanted to answer. "It's...not his fault. That it's so...He does everything on another scale. Like you, I guess. Except being inside that force is...sometimes it's almost euphoric. Sometimes I just want to scream until it's over."

He flushes at the last bit. "It's just like piggy-backing on someone else," he mumbles. "But like your...head is in a whirlwind made of rocks." Terrible metaphor.

Thor nods. "Then I think I can see why you don't want me to touch him," he says. "Even apart from the fact that he's not really you. But he's hurt, and I fear that he's going to keep trying to hurt you when you're with me. He feels...kinship with me. Whether or not that's right." Thor doesn't really stop to think how _he_ feels about it.

Bruce does. "You said that before, you thought of us as the same person," he says. "Do you still want him? As what _we_ say we are? Because if you...I-If you sleep with him again," Bruce says awkwardly, "I don't want...I don't want you to just be, um." The first figure of speech that comes to mind is "plugging a hole," which is not even a little bit helpful. "I don't want you to placate him like that. It's not...it's not fair." He shrugs and skitters his glance off in some useless direction. "To anybody."

Thor swallows. He's caught between two bad answers, so as always, he chooses honesty. "I want him because I want you," he says. "I'm sorry. I know you both feel like you're not the same person, and I can make myself see that if I try, but it doesn't come naturally. You feel like parts of each other. That's why I--Why I made that mistake in the first place. So, no. I wouldn't be placating him. But I don't want to hurt you." He looks at his hands, not sure what to do with them. Words are not his strong suit, but he has to keep using them.

Bruce feels a surge of resentment for Hulk, looking at Thor not looking at him, and thinks, _None of this would be so painful without you._ And then, one right on top of the other, he thinks, _But there wouldn't be this without him_ , and _What the hell is wrong with you?_

He wasn't this bitter before. It's because of the Hulk, but it's not...it isn't Hulk's fault.

Bruce doesn't cry, not 'not often,' just _never._ But he didn't know when he left his office that he was coming home to face everything he was afraid of.

Oh, it’s melodramatic. But it's true.

"Oh," he says, eyes burning, "I am such a bad man." The low-grade, selfish, unkind kind, of course. He's never been responsible for the deaths of hundreds. Except by riding piggy-back.

"No," Thor says, very low. "No." He reaches out and puts his hand on Bruce's shoulder, right where his neck meets it.

Bruce leans into his touch. He smiles through his blurry eyes. "I am," he explains. "But it doesn't--listen, can we still have our date?" he says. His voice is strained, but he tries to show Thor that he's saying reasonable things. "And _next_ time you're over you can, I dunno, screw the Hulk."

Completely reasonable things.

Thor raises his eyebrows. "Do you mean that? I don't want you to agree because you feel as though--as though it's the only way to keep me. Because it isn't." He squeezes Bruce's shoulder, suddenly able to breathe properly again. They're through the hard part, he can tell, because Bruce is smiling.

"Yeah," says Bruce, "I mean it." And for once, he doesn't wait and he doesn't force someone else into a reaction, he just drops his whole weight against Thor, his face buried against Thor's warm chest and his hand caught in Thor's shirt. If Thor can tell whether he's crying now, it won't matter. Bruce knows he wouldn't tell.

Thor's arms are around Bruce, holding him so tightly it's probably a little painful, before he even thinks about it. "Bruce," he says, bending his head to nuzzle against Bruce’s. His fist bunches in the back of Bruce's shirt, the fingers of his other hand pressing into Bruce's spine. "Let's have that date," he says.

~

When Thor is absorbed with _Mothra vs. Godzilla,_ because Bruce very secretly has a sense of humor _and_ (slightly distinct from that) a sense of irony, Bruce excuses himself to the bathroom. He shuts the door and flips on the light and braces his hands against the sink. In the mirror, he looks distressed (by default) and tired with adrenaline. Not turning into Hulk while Thor was trying to talk about Hulk was what Bruce considers to be a...sizable victory.

Now he meets his own eyes in the mirror. 

“Hello,” he whispers. He is anxious enough that he can feel Hulk stirring somewhere at the back of his being. That’s useful. 

It would be ideal, Bruce thinks, if he didn’t have to exhaust himself just to let Hulk out. That’s part of the problem. Problem for later. He notes it.

It takes him another minute to think what to say, but once he starts building--first conversational point, a whole fistful of memories of changing, from Bruce to Hulk and from Hulk to Bruce--it comes together fast. _Together,_ he tries to make it say. _We hurt,_ he says. He means other people, and he means each other. He waits to see if Hulk can--will answer.

After a minute, there’s a shifting, like a emotional itch, behind his shoulder blade. He takes that as a sign, and tries, awkwardly, to give Hulk something else. _I’m not fair,_ is what he’s trying to say, offering in example his fear and his invective and his--really Herculean defensiveness. He acknowledges that Hulk protects him, too. Protects _them._

He’s careful not to let Thor enter this discussion, yet, because it isn’t _really_ about Thor. 

Hulk shifts more restlessly now. He’s suspicious. He says, _Yes, Bruce is unfair_. He’s listening. He hates Bruce violently, but--Bruce looks down and his fists are clenched--but he’s listening for this moment, anyway, as long as puny Bruce will _make it quick._

_To be fair,_ Bruce pushes back, _to be fair,_ Hulk is cruel to him as well. He gives him the truth of that, mixes it all together to show how horrible they are to each other.

 _Maybe we shouldn’t,_ he tries to suggest behind it.

Hulk growls. Bruce’s breath catches in his throat. He blinks at his unassuming face, hiding behind its shaggy hair and glasses. He sees the product of endless worry. He sees what Hulk hates so much. He feels tired, suddenly, in a way he hasn’t before. He’s horrendously disappointed in himself.

 _I hurt your pride,_ he observes. Hulk agrees wholeheartedly. 

_If I apologized and let you out more,_ Bruce asks, _what would you do?_ It’s getting easier to communicate. He doesn’t bother, often, and it frightens him, when he does--how easy it is to find Hulk... _inside_ him.

 _Never let you out,_ Hulk says bluntly. _Smash what I want._ Not because he’s stupid, but because he has no regard for human rules.

Bruce sighs. “That’s no good,” he tells the mirror.

Hulk is sulking in the way volcanoes sulk. Bruce sighs again.

“Did you hear me before?” he asks. Hulk shifts, pretending not to listen. There’s a sharp, long pain lodged in his non-response (it makes Bruce wince) that he thinks must be his, Bruce’s, conversation with Thor--the gist of it, and not the particulars. Hulk wouldn’t be so angry about the particulars.

“Thor wants--” He can’t imagine the correct word for sex with Hulk. He blushes trying to figure it out. “Thor wants you. Like before.”

Defensive interest. Puny Bruce will stand in his way.

“I told him I wouldn’t, though,” Bruce retorts, and then winces. “I _didn’t say no,”_ he tries to explain more quietly. “I told him that was fair. If he wanted. If--if you wanted. Do you understand?”

Hulk is scoffing, because if Bruce is trying to be kind, all it really means is that he is even more disgustingly weak than usual. Bruce grimaces, and whispers, “Clearly we have a ways to go.”

 _GOING NOWHERE,_ Hulk retorts.

“Yeah, well,” says Bruce resignedly. “I’m going to go watch Thor take a...completely ridiculous movie very seriously now. You--”

 _GODZILLA SERIOUS_ , Hulk interrupts him, which takes Bruce aback.

“You and Thor will have something to talk about, then,” he says at last, and then hesitates. “I’ll--I’m not lying,” he says. “He does want you. If you want him, I’ll--I won’t keep him for just me.”

 _NOT ENOUGH,_ Hulk tells him.

“Well, for now, that’s all I’ve got,” Bruce says. He feels like he might as well be asleep on his feet. “Bye now.”

He wanders sleepily and anxiously back into the bedroom, where the TV lives and Thor is parked on the floor in front of it with his lo mein, looking tremendously pleased by this cultural experience.

Bruce pushes the takeout boxes out of the way and wedges himself between the end of his bed and Thor’s side. He isn’t used to wanting contact this badly, any more than he wants to talk to Hulk on good terms. It’s that kind of day.

“How’s it going?” he asks, gesturing to the screen, but it’s just a clever trick to get Thor to talk, so Bruce can feel it like a purr when he leans against Thor’s chest.


	7. how to summon a hulk for sex, and some memories of asgard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Well, you should probably hit me," Bruce says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: sexy punching, hardly-counts-as-fade-out hulk sex

Since Bruce said yes, Thor has carefully not asked when exactly he is going to be having sex with the Hulk. Bruce knows this because he's put up conversational obstacles several times in the past week, testing whether Thor even notices, or whether he answers, or whether he has to evade. So far he's evaded. It's sweet, but Bruce has to stop giving him something to avoid or things will go badly.

Today, when he tidies up his office to go home, he mutters a, "Please send Thor, suggest he gets a phone, thanks," to Heimdall (who might be watching, for all Bruce knows). He hisses when he gets outside; it's cold, autumn in earnest.

Thor has been standing outside Bruce's office for long enough to start to feel the chill, although the cold air just reminds him of home and is not unpleasant. He hopes Bruce doesn't think his appearance is any sort of demand, although it might be a gentle request. He doesn't want to force Bruce into anything, but he doesn't want Hulk to get so angry that he breaks out when none of them are ready and makes everything worse. He wants everyone to agree.

He wants a lot of potentially impossible things. For now, he wants to see Bruce. And right on cue, Bruce emerges from the building. Thor raises a hand and waves.

Bruce spots Thor, in his choice location for striking a Thorlike stance. "Cheers," he mutters to Heimdall, because you really never know, and then hurries a little in getting over to Thor. "I hoped you'd be here," he says. "Do you want to come home with--" He pauses to speak carefully. "--with us tonight?"

Thor breaks into a smile. He should have known he could trust Bruce to be fair at least some of the time. He's charmed at how hard Bruce is trying. "Yes," he says. "Yes, I'd like that. I thought perhaps you'd like someone to walk with. It's cold for a mortal." He puts his arm around Bruce, no longer gingerly, but with a slightly proprietary firmness. He feels safe stopping Bruce from flinching or running now. They've had harder moments.

Bruce thinks about ducking away (it's just not that _comfortable,_ physically or socially, and he really doesn't like people looking at him), but he only sighs, and balances things out by putting his arm against Thor's waist.

"It'll get colder," he says. "Mortals are used to it. Not that--I mind the company," he adds as they start off home.

It's getting habitual to walk this way and not be alone.

Thor nods amicably, trying to slow his steps to keep pace with Bruce. He's oddly nervous in a different way than he was on any of their previous dates. Dealing with Bruce and dealing with Hulk are alarming in different ways, easy and hard in different ways. Thor isn't--quite--used to his lovers having so many faces.

He slows a bit more and turns to nuzzle Bruce's hair quickly. "I'm glad you wanted to see me. It's not the same at meetings." Obviously, but still.

Bruce laughs--it comes out slightly bitter, like a lot of him does. "I emphatically prefer to see you alone," he agrees.

Something in what he's saying--what they're talking about--makes him restless all of a sudden, and when they start walking again he picks up a faster pace.

"Come on," he says. "You were right. It's too cold."

Thor frowns and agrees, matching Bruce's stride. He understands that this isn't--can't be--easy for Bruce, and he just hopes it isn't hard in the wrong ways. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't guiltily looking forward to seeing the Hulk again. He can at least make _different_ missteps then, and ones he can fix with his hands.

When they reach Bruce's apartment and Bruce has locked the door behind them, Bruce checks to see all the curtains are drawn before he says anything to Thor. He hasn't done that before; they mostly have been, and he hasn't bothered to make sure.

When he's done, he turns around to face Thor, who's loitering awkwardly in he kitchen. He says abruptly, "You understand I can't just...tell him to come out. Right?"

Thor swallows. He...hadn't thought about that part, but of course, yes, it's never been like that.

"Yes," he says. He suddenly doesn't know what to do with his hands, so he knots them in front of him. "What should I do?" He shouldn't be the one standing here awkwardly asking questions, but he has to ask, or it will be wrong. It's important that he doesn't get this wrong.

"Well, you should probably hit me," Bruce says. That's what Wolverine does.

Thor nods, because that's the logical step, of course, but then the implication of the words hits him a second later and he isn't sure he _can._

His hands fall to his sides where they bunch uselessly. "You're so _small,"_ he says, feeling stupid. So small, so breakable, so _mortal._

"Nothing has killed me yet," Bruce retorts, nonplussed.

"I don't mean--I don't mean you're _weak,"_ Thor tries again, disturbed. "But I'm a _god._ And I care for you."

Bruce swallows. Thor's anxiety is making _him _anxious. "So don't hit me like you're trying to win," he says. He doesn't quite remember to turn it into a joke.__

The fact that Bruce is willing to give him instruction helps, a lot. Thor nods slowly. "But enough to make you angry. Enough to mean it." He pulls his hand back and slaps Bruce across the face once, hard. It's a start.

Bruce gasps and grabs at Thor's shirt. "Wait!" he says. His fingers dig in and he exhales in what might be a moan. He glances up, uncertain and flushes. "I--maybe I should...avoid ruining any clothes on _purpose."_

Suddenly all of Thor's anxiety transmutes itself into something else. Seeing Bruce like this makes it all right. "Let me help," he says, his voice suddenly rough. He grabs the hem of Bruce's shirt and pulls it over his head, too eager to fumble. As he pulls the shirt off, he slaps Bruce's cheek again lightly, like a promise.

Bruce whimpers, pawing off his glasses and setting them fumblingly down on the table as he takes a step backwards. His other hand hesitates in the air near Thor's body, but all he does is look at Thor blearily, unable to decide if he can touch back.

"Let me," Thor says. "Just wait, and let me." He undoes Bruce's pants, marveling at how skinny his hips are. He realizes he likes doing this to Bruce, just as much as he'll like being with the Hulk. He likes all of it, and he thinks it's good that Bruce gets to be part of it.

He grins, unable to stop himself. Then, without warning, he hits Bruce again, a little harder. Because Bruce _isn't_ fragile. Bruce shouts and reaches out behind him for the wall to hold him up. Thor is crouching at his feet, taking off Bruce's shoes, and something about that ( _He's a prince!_ Bruce remembers) makes Bruce nearly cry with need.

 _You can't,_ he reminds himself. _You promised._ So he digs his nails into the paint and shuts his eyes, tilting his head up so it's easier not to look.

Thor _wants,_ but he makes himself go slowly enough to get it right, setting Bruce's shoes aside and tugging his pants the rest of the way off. A huge part of Thor just wants to kneel here and suck Bruce off (he wonders, briefly, if mortals who have words for everything have a word for being blinded with need at the idea of pleasing your lover), but no.

No, he needs Hulk, and Hulk needs him. This is just a very good step that's very hard not to get sidetracked by. Thor slaps Bruce's thigh, hard, before straightening.

Bruce shudders, and tilts his head to look at Thor out of one eye (he forces himself to open the other one when he remembers about Odin). "I think," he says breathlessly, "once. Harder." He swallows. "Maybe win a little."

Thor moves without thinking, pinning Bruce against the wall with his body, his right hand closing on Bruce's wrist and squeezing.

"You need not give me permission," he says, which is untrue, but important to say. He strikes Bruce with his free hand, much harder.

Bruce's head snaps to one side under the blow. He feels the other side, the one where Thor didn't hit him, hit the wall instead. It feels immediately, elastically far away.

"Got it," he whispers, and then he's swallowed up by something huge and familiar and powerful and strong.

Thor is breathing faster than he should be, and he can actually _see_ something in Bruce change at the moment it does. He feels somehow wrong watching, so he quickly strips his own clothing instead. He doesn't want that ripped, either, and he can move more freely.

Hulk finds himself awake and in his body. Thor is taking off his clothes within grabbing distance.

Puny Bruce didn't lie.

"Hulk said ask," he rumbles, because they should have it clear between them that he was right.

Thor nods. "And I asked. And he said yes. I...thank you. It was good advice, I think. For everyone." He's still talking as though he's talking to Bruce, though, and that's no good. He steps into Hulk's space.

Hulk grunts appraisingly. Thor is not as puny as Hulk's other half, although he is still smaller than Hulk is, in body. He is fearless, too. Hulk frowns and runs his large fingers down Thor's chest. "You keep Hulk quiet this way?"

Thor broadens his stance, taking up space and leaning into Hulk's touch a little. "I want you quiet when I'm with Bruce, yes. But not now. Now I want you loud." He grabs hold of Hulk's wrist as he did Bruce's, getting as much of a grip as he can.

Hulk snarls and pulls back. He, unlike Bruce, can do this. He breaks Thor's hold and spins around, pushing Thor back against the wall where Hulk had been standing. He snarls, "You get Hulk, you get with _fight."_

Thor arches against the wall, pushing against Hulk. Oh, he knows how to fight, and now he doesn't have to be careful. "I know," he says. Then, " _Good."_ He kicks at Hulk, more lightly than he could, but enough to hurt.

Hulk shoves him back, for emphasis more than anything. He drops his hands and pins Thor's arms so they are spread wide against the wall. "Not fighting," he accuses.

"If you want a fight, you can have one," Thor says, unable to keep from smiling. It's a determined smile. He summons all of his strength, the strength he tries to tuck away when he's on Earth, and pushes against Hulk, feelings his muscles burn with the effort. He's at a bad angle for it, though. He pushes off the wall with his bare foot, straining toward Hulk.

Hulk staggers back, triumphant but focused. He sees a path to the floor between the wall and the table, and he throws his shoulder against Thor's chest to knock him down into it.

Thor rolls to his feet and throws himself against Hulk, battering his chest with fists. He reaches up and digs his nails into Hulk's jaw to see if he can still him.

Hulk rears his head back, then looks down, panting, and says, "Hulk is what you want, small god?" His fingers like staves prod against Thor's ribs.

"Yes," Thor hisses between his teeth. This is _fighting,_ this is what he never gets to do here, not with people who aren't enemies.

Hulk's voice rumbles in his chest. He shoves Thor backwards, his hands against Thor's hips. This time they both hit the ground. Before Thor can try to push him off again, Hulk grinds their bodies together. Let the small god remember Hulk can make him weak.

Thor makes an involuntary sound, momentarily completely helpless. He rocks up against Hulk, breathless and violent.

"Oh, yes," he manages. "More." It comes out like a command.

Hulk growls, pins him to the floor with one hand on his chest. The other pushes up Thor's leg, from under his knee. Hulk inches down Thor's body, watching him warily. "You are commanding?" he asks, like the idea is ridiculous. Thor is erect. Hulk bends down and licks him.

Thor throws his head back and gasps. He wasn't quite expecting that, and he can't tamp down on the sound or the shaky exhale that follows.

"Yes," he says, finding his voice again. "Yes, I am. And I see you are obeying." Needling Hulk is easy. Thor would do more, but he doesn't want to move at the moment.

Hulk's head snaps up and he roars at Thor in irritation, letting go of Thor's leg in the moment.

Thor pulls himself into a half-sitting position to drag Hulk back down. "Well, don't _stop."_ He pauses. "Please."

Hulk scowls, takes hold of Thor's leg again and leans into him, until he can see Thor wince from the stretch of his muscles. "Arrogant," he suggests.

Thor's mouth opens in surprise. "Yes," he agrees. He is, he has been. It's true. He struggles a little, trying to regain control of his position. He knows he can struggle quite hard without getting away.

Hulk pushes harder and moves his other hand to pin Thor's shoulder. "You think we are not equals?"

Thor wriggles, but it doesn't do any good. So he might as well answer the question. "I'm a god," he suggests. "I could--" Do nothing, from this position. "Mm. No, I think we might be equals."

~

When Hulk dwindles back into Bruce’s small shape, he remains flat on his back on the floor with his hand flat across his chest. Thor runs his hand over Bruce's skinny shoulder, feeling the new shape of the muscle, the shape that's actually more familiar to him. 

"Are you well?" he asks softly. He wants to show that he can still speak to both of them and get it right.

Bruce is sleepy and pleasantly surprised. " 'M good," he says eloquently. "I--do I still have furniture?" It's hard to see from the floor (without his glasses), but he's not very optimistic.

"We were careful," Thor says, relieved and pleased. "I think _he_ was careful." It's true that there are a few new dents in the wall, but maybe Bruce won't notice them. There were plenty there before tonight.

"Okay," Bruce says. He feels a little disjointed. It's weird for his half-memories of Hulk to be in any tenor other than destruction, rage, death and so on. It's also weird to have some lingering satisfaction from the someone else who's also him having sex. Uncomfortable? That might just be the carpet. It's not a very nice carpet.

"Could we leave the carpet?" he asks. He also wants to ask if he can have tea, and pants, but that seems rude. Abrupt? Abrupt.

Thor smiles and gets to his feet a little shakily. "Of course." He offers Bruce and hand, feeling again the difference between Bruce's bodies. It doesn't even strike him as odd, really, although it does suddenly strike him how many people _would_ find it odd.

"I need a drink of some kind," he says. His voice is a little hoarse.

"I have tea," Bruce said, before he's taken his weight off Thor's arm and put it back on his own feet. "I have tea without caffeine in it," he amends. "Or, water. Or...milk." He looks questioningly at Thor, and then down at himself, at the wrong time to not get embarrassed about it. "Er. I did have pants somewhere, right?" 

Thor doesn't seem to mind that he's not wearing any.

"Oh!" Thor says, and, "Yes. Yes, we took them off, didn't we? To avoid damaging them." He's perfectly comfortable being naked, but he's aware that Bruce...isn't. "Here," he says helpfully, spotting the pants. "And then 'tea'."

"You wouldn't drink caffeine either, if you were me," Bruce grumbles, stooping down and swiping up his trousers. He pads off into the kitchen without indicating any expectations about Thor and his relationship with his clothes.

Thor chooses to ignore clothes. Instead, he follows Bruce into the kitchen, where he waits patiently for tea. "I should find you some proper mead to drink," he remarks. "Mead of Asgard." This feels natural and comfortable, and he allows himself to relax into one of the--less comfortable--kitchen chairs.

Bruce says, "What kind of tea do you want? I have...a lot." He shrugs briefly. "Maybe you should look. At the options."

Thor looks. Some of them have names that contain words he knows, but most of them aren't things he'd consider putting in beverage. "The best one," he says firmly. "You choose." He realizes upon moving to look at the tea that he's very sore all over. He rolls his shoulders.

"Hm," says Bruce. He has no idea what _the best_ could possibly be, so instead he gives them both chamomile and waits to see what kind of face Thor will make about it.

Thor is pleasantly surprised, although it doesn't taste much like anything he's had before. "Mm," he says. "I'm more and more delighted by the foods you mortals have. Volstagg would never leave, were he to return here again." He gives Bruce a hopeful smile of sharing things from their lives that hopefully aren't impossibly strange.

Bruce says, "Huh. You don't talk about your friends from Asgard."

Thor blinks. No, he supposes, he doesn't. Perhaps he was trying harder than he thought to fit in here. "I have four friends who are my constant companions," he says.

Bruce tries not to look surprised, first, and then he tries not to look anxious. "Not...recently," he suggests. He isn't sure if he needs to ask where they are, or why Thor isn't with them, or why he doesn't mention them, or if they know about--him. He trips over his tongue and ends up with, "Hmm."

"They are...at home," Thor says, suddenly not sure if _home_ is the right word for Asgard anymore. "In Asgard, with the rest of my people. I miss them deeply. I wish my father would allow more of my people to visit Midgard. I would have them meet the Avengers." He realizes he's not entirely sure if that's a good idea.

"If they're at all like you I'm sure everyone would be happy to meet them," Bruce says, talking without thinking. He turns pink and frowns into his mug.

"Oh," Thor says, surprised and pleased. He tries to say something else, but he has nothing to follow it up with. After a moment, he clears his throat and says, "Most of them have less tact than I."

Bruce is very nice and doesn't laugh at him, first, and second thinks, _Oh, no, they will_ hate _me._ Well, maybe by the time Asgard establishes an exchange program, Thor will be tired of him, and he can avoid the whole situation. He could also be dead of old age by then--although he doesn't actually know what being Hulk does to his aging process.

"So does Tony Stark," he says instead. "And most of the X-Men. And Hawkeye. And any given member of S.H.I.E.L.D."

Thor laughs and takes another drink of his tea. "True," he says. "After Tony, Sif will seem kindly and well-mannered. If anything could make her seem so." He realizes he's maybe sounding a bit too fond.

Bruce clears his throat, and then stands up and walks out of the room. He comes back after a few seconds with a blanket over his shoulders. He settles into his chair and says, slightly awkwardly (he hopes Thor doesn't notice), "So, uh. Sif. And...Vol...stagg? What about--you could tell me about them." _And if they'll kill me or if you were--_ He shuts himself up before he can finish that thought even in his head.

Thor nods, glad to have something to say. "Volstagg has great loyalty and great girth. And very little tact." He smiles. "He has a kind nature. As does Fandral, but his is hidden often by his tendency to show off. Hogun never shows off, but he never smiles, either. He's very wise. Together, they encompass all the qualities one would want in a friend. And Sif...she is a fierce warrior and a loyal friend." He reaches across the table and squeezes Bruce's hand, missing his friends very much.

"That's a lot of," Bruce starts, and then realizes that whatever he's trying to say is...stupid. "You love them a lot," he says, and then frowns. "Why the hell would you not say anything about them?" Unless they are somehow as problematic as Thor's brother, which Bruce does _not_ say.

Thor looks very intently at his mug. "I...miss them. Talking about them is difficult. And perhaps I thought it would be easier to fit in here if I didn't talk about them. Nothing about them follows Midgard's rules."

"Oh, yes, right, your Earth social circle is so normal," Bruce says.

Thor smiles. "In some ways, yes. They don't generally slay wild boar, at least. But perhaps my friends can come and meet you. I think they'd like you. They'll be happy I've finally found someone."

Bruce grips his mug convulsively, and says, "Happy is good." _So you didn't--_ He bites his tongue.

Thor chuckles and plays with his mug. "They used to tease me about it all the time. It's hardly fair, though. They'd taken everyone I knew."

"Er," says Bruce.

Thor glances up from his mug. "Oh, they're...That's not done here either, I don't think."

"What?" Bruce says. "What isn't done?"

"They're dating," Thor says. Then he drains his tea so as to avoid saying anything else, because clearly Bruce is confused and uncomfortable.

"Who, they, all of them? Dating who?" Bruce says. He has been Hulk too much in the last hour to be prepared for this kind of verbal sidestepping.

Thor has no more tea to drink. "All of them, each other," he says.

Bruce blinks at him for a minute. "That sounds kind of unbearable," he says.

Thor laughs in surprise. "Well," he says, "sometimes. They balance one another out."

"Okay, but who balances you?" Bruce clarifies.

 _Loki,_ Thor is about to say, but it's not really true. The fact that he sought refuge in his brother's company when his friends were being...themselves doesn't mean it was something that worked.

"I don't know," he says.

Bruce clears his throat again. "Sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to--it just sounds tiring."

"It's all right," Thor says quickly. "It--I wasn't bothered, then. It just sounds troubling now. I was happy to be around them. I liked my life. The only problem was that I was awful."

"That's probably why they didn't date you," Bruce says. He sips his tea.

Thor blinks. "That's--" He laughs. "That's _mean._ I sometimes forget that about you."

"How nice that I get to keep surprising you," Bruce says. He relents a little. "You do miss them, though, right? Not just those four," he elaborates, sort of.

"Yes," Thor says without hesitation. "It's not them I wanted to leave. It's my father." He's stepped too close to the truth, so he amends, trying to _feel_ less, "It's the whole culture. It makes people cruel." He's still leaving things out.

Bruce is quiet for a minute. Then he says, "I haven't said anything about your brother. I can--keep doing that."

Thor takes a breath. He doesn't know what the right answer is. He doesn't know what _any_ answer is. Then he says, his voice coming out strangled and not even as he intended, "I miss him." It's a true starting point.

Bruce says, "Okay. Well. If you...want to talk about him. Or--do something about him. I am...here." He makes sure Thor can see he's serious. "I don't know what _I_ could do, but I'm not...hm." He considers, and says, "I'm not the same kind of Avenger as Captain America. I don't...take their side by default."

Thor didn't even realize how afraid he'd been that Bruce _was_ the same as the rest of them. "Thanks you," he says. He sounds stupidly breathless. "And believe me, I'll fight him if he tries to hurt any of you again, but I cannot be his enemy. I have to believe he can be saved. I can't write off the whole of our long, long lives as a lie." He wishes fervently for more tea so he'll stop talking. He doesn't do this kind of thing.

Bruce says, turning his cup in his hands, "You understand this is why I trust you, and not them. Right? You want to protect people, not just...keep things tidy." He glances up. "I selfishly find that preferable."

Thor grips Bruce's arm hard. " _Yes,"_ he says. "I understand. I truly do, this time. And you understand."

"I think so," Bruce says. "Thanks for. You know, things."

"Of course," Thor says. He stands and gives Bruce an awkward hug, because it's easier than words and he needs to.

Bruce sidles out of his chair and only checks himself for a moment before he hugs Thor back, wrapping his blanket around both of them. "This is all very confusing," he says to Thor's chest.

Thor laughs. "Yes," he agrees. "But nice, I think."

Bruce says, "Yeah, but it's October, and you're not wearing any pants."

Thor ducks to bury his face in Bruce's shoulder and laughs harder. "I, it slipped my mind. I should rectify this."

"You could," Bruce says, smiling despite himself, "or you could just come to bed."


	8. tony and bruce make each other uncomfortable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gives Bruce a bright, wobbly smile. "I get the sense that you completely loathe me, Doctor Banner. Would that be fair to say?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: mental health issues (untreated, self-diagnosed)

Tony is way too early to the meeting, but since he basically owns the meeting, that's probably considered acceptable. He's doodling schematics for a new suit on the very expensive tabletop and isn't paying good attention to anything else that's going on. He spares room for _Steve would look nice in a tie_ and _Get to-do list from Pepper,_ but mostly he's focused on the rapidly-growing ink on the furniture.

He doesn't notice right away when Bruce Banner steps through the doorway, freezes, steps out again, and sidles back inside a few seconds later.

"Hmmm," Tony says, waving his pen vaguely in the direction of the door. Someone is there, he's pretty sure, but right now he's having a train of thought that needs not to be interrupted.

Bruce reflects sadly that the best point of visibility (and escape) in the room is two chairs away from Tony. Back to the wall, everyone visible, door visible, self invisible, door maximum three people away. Bruce grimaces and shuffles over. The chair shudders across the floor when he pulls it out. He sits down without sighing, and folds his hands in his lap, where he stares at them half-heartedly.

Tony is focused, but he also--probably!--has some kind of ADD, so when he hears the chair scrape against the floor, he jumps out out his seat, tossing the pen onto the table. "Bruce!" It _would_ be the most awkward Avenger who decides to show up early. "You didn't bring me coffee," he says, abandoning the graffiti'd table completely and crashing in the chair next to Bruce.

"No," Bruce says. "Was I supposed to?"

"I generally feel like everyone's supposed to," Tony says, patting Bruce on the shoulder. "So here you are, early. And alone." He raises his eyebrows at Bruce and grabs his (now cold, which is why he needed--yeah) coffee from the table.

Bruce edges out from under Tony's hand. "My clock was wrong," he says.

Tony tries his hand in a few other places, ending up with Bruce's knee and a firm pat. "Was Thor's clock wrong? Is that not appropriate? How's that _going?_ I ask out of idle curiosity and horrible intrusiveness."

"You're really close," Bruce says. "I'd really like it if you were less close."

"It's okay," Tony assures him, "we can have a safeword." He makes great show of taking his hand off Bruce's knee and laying it flat on the table. "You were saying?"

"I was not," Bruce says. He is aware that his cheeks are getting pink, and it's not because Tony Stark’s wiles are effective.

"Pity," Tony says. "Because, you know, Thor said. Thor said kind of a lot." Is that mean? he wonders. He's not trying to be mean.

Bruce freezes. That hurts. He doesn't think Stark is lying, but he didn't expect Thor would--do that.

Do what? Talk to his friend who keeps giving him perfectly decent dating advice?

Bruce says, "You may have heard it's not a great idea to stress me out."

Tony laughs and then stops. "Whoops," he says, because Fury has made it clear enough that actually, this is an _awful_ idea. "You know Thor," he says quickly, trying to cover. "He just kind of...talks. Nothing _mean._ Nothing private." Tony's concept of private is a little confused, but close enough, right? Probably?

Bruce finally looks at Tony. He finds it very difficult to think of anything he can say back except for the inadvisable _Did you know I hate you?_

Instead he says, "I do know Thor." Maybe the implication ( _I don't think you're talking about the Thor I'm talking about)_ doesn't go along with it, but he can't actually make any more words come out without breaking out in a problematic panic.

"I could back off," Tony suggests. "I could back way off, both physically and--and verbally. That might help." Oh, Tony is bad at helping. "But," he says, "I'm still pretty excited about this thing you guys have. Vicarious delight." Accidentally very true.

Bruce frowns. "Wait," he says. "Really?"

"Oh," Tony says, taken aback. "Yes? Yes. Functional humans! Well, gods and--humans. I'm impressed. Hope for humanity. Et cetera."

Bruce mutters, " 'm not sure your baseline for functional is," and then trails off into incomprehensibility.

"Yyyeah," Tony says. "No, true. But I think you guys are probably actually above most baselines." He offers the bewildered thumbs-up of someone who's accidentally stumbled into an inexplicably honest conversation.

Bruce coughs and peers at and around his hands some more. "This is really weird," he says. "You're being really nice."

"Total accident," Tony says. "I swear. It's actually a little confusing. Not that I'm usually _not_ nice on purpose. Hey, do _you_ want coffee?"

"I don't really..." Bruce says.

"Probably sensible," Tony says. "You, coffee, stress. Wow, how do you _exist_ around me?" His hand is accidentally back on Bruce's arm.

Bruce swallows, and takes his arm back, and says, "I try not to."

"Ow," Tony suggests. "You know who _is_ mean? You. You're mean." He downs the rest of his cold coffee. "I like that. Less creepy than fake nice."

"It doesn't really make a big difference," Bruce says. "When people are chasing you with tanks. So."

"I have noticed that, yes," Tony says.

"Weird," says Bruce. "I would have thought they'd go after you with more...fast things. Or no things. Because of how you can get away with basically anything."

Tony gives Bruce a bright, wobbly smile. "I get the sense that you completely loathe me, Doctor Banner. Would that be fair to say?"

"Er," says Bruce, and looks anxiously at the door, which is currently zero people away.

"You don't have to say," Tony says in what he hopes is a reassuring tone, making sure his hands are far away from all of Bruce's parts. Oh, that's a thought he shouldn't even begin thinking. He can't stop his trains of thought, though. "But," he continues, to shut his brain up, "I'd rather you didn't hate me."

"I hate a lot of people," Bruce says faintly. This is not strictly true, but everything else he can think to say is horrendous.

"Oh," Tony says. Ow. "Huh. So. That's..." He puts his hand back on Bruce's leg, incongruously. "Sorry?" he tries.

"What?" Bruce says. He feels like a rabbit, of the kind that freezes in place as it's being trampled to death by a completely witless family dog.

Tony takes his hand away, torn between please-don't-hate-me and please-hate-me. "What I mean is, I'm glad I was being nice. Back then when I _was_ being nice. And I'm sorry I said anything about Thor."

Bruce glances down at his leg as though Tony might have some other limb lurking around waiting to pounce at him. "Oh," says Bruce. "Well. If he said...a lot...you wouldn't know. Not to." Bruce wonders uneasily if he really does have to be upset with Thor. It happens a lot. It shouldn't still make him so anxious.

Now Tony actually feels bad. He didn't mean to make Bruce feel bad or get Thor in trouble. It just...happened. "He didn't," he says. "He didn't say a lot. He was just trying to find out if you were dating, actually."

"What?" Bruce says again, blankly. Does he feel better? He isn't sure if he feels better. He isn't sure that Tony has actually communicated anything. He feels this way a lot about Tony, which, considering how smart Tony is supposed to be (is, is), seems wrong.

Tony waves his hand and wishes he had more coffee to occupy it with. "He doesn't know how people work, actually. In case you didn't notice that. And he _really_ doesn't know how Midgardian dating works. He barely told me anything." He winks, because he's still self-destructive.

Bruce says, unsmiling, "And how does Midgardian dating work?"

Tony raises his eyebrows. "I," he says. Then he says, "Huh." Oh god, _nothing to do with his hands._ "You tell me?" he finally settles on.

Bruce shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "How would I know?" he says. "I'm dating a god, apparently."

"And I'm," Tony says, but that sentence is going exactly _nowhere,_ so he stops. "Yeah, you are," he says. "That's the point, right? You're dating. How _is_ that, by the way?"

Bruce huffs a (minuscule) laugh. "Um," he says. "It's. It's good. The, ah, restaurant--" He looks at the ceiling, but Heimdall (who _never_ answers) does not magically vacuum him up into Asgard. "The restaurant was good," he finishes.

"Oh," Tony says, more pleased than he'd like to admit. "Yeah? That's good. I picked it just for you. It's not like Thor would have noticed the difference between McDonald's and...the place I almost sent you." He drums his fingers on the table.

Bruce charitably decides to ignore that last bit and skip back to the middle, where he can be embarrassed and a little unnerved. "Anything Midgard," he says.

Tony grins. "I think we'll probably all end up calling it Midgard. Which will be cute. Your eyes are great." Something in his train of thought has jumped several tracks. He stares wistfully at his coffee cup.

Bruce says, "What?" for something like the tenth time (third time) in this conversation.

"I don't know," Tony says. "I like your eyes. But just objectively, they're great eyes." Are they? Was he even looking at them? Has he ever looked at them? _What is he trying to do?_

Bruce, who is now far too _aware_ of his own eyes, realizes they have gotten large. He tries to narrow them down to something more normal and less appealing, but he suspects it just makes him look not quite right. "Is this your method for making friends?" he says. "Is that--what are you doing?"

"What am I doing?" Tony repeats. "What _am_ I doing?" He glances desperately at the door, but no luck. "Nothing?" he suggests. Even he can't carry off that lie.

Bruce stares at him. He says, "You're crazy. You're a crazy person. I thought that was the...rumors. Tabloids."

Tony laughs a little manically. "Oh," he says, "no. No, that's just...me. Pretty much all the time. The tabloids actually make me sound _less_ crazy."

Bruce says, "But you're tidy-minded and rational and focused enough to build, what, a dozen different Iron Man suits. And a nuclear heart."

Bruce likes problems he can puzzle.

Tony smiles. "I can list half a dozen disorders that work that way." He's never, in fact, been diagnosed with anything. That way he can label it _genius_ and carry on.

"What's yours?" Bruce says. It's partly a question but more of a challenge, and he doesn't know why he's making it. Maybe because the idea that Tony Stark would _naturally_ have a nice acceptable excusable tag to put under his public displays of destructive lunacy. Whereas Bruce has--karma. Fault. Something less comfortable than eccentricity.

Tony pulls up short. "Uh," he says. No one asks him to articulate these things. Except Pepper and Rhodey, who articulate them for him. _At_ him. "Probably ADD?" he says. "At least? You know, with a dash of genetic alcoholism,"--ow--"a little bit of lingering PTSD, and maybe some faint bipolar." He grins blindingly and spreads his hands, like, _what?_

 _Boy who has everything,_ Bruce’s thoughts hiss at him.

"Paycheck like yours can't afford a psychiatrist?" Bruce asks. He knows he's being mean now, and he knows he's getting more upset than he should--not in the sense that it's disproportionate, but in the sense that he _is not calm._

"It's less the paycheck and more the ego," Tony says a bit frantically. When did this become this conversation? (It's not the ego, anyway. Well, it is. Just not like that.)

"That's having your cake and eating it, don't you think?" Bruce says. His heart is in his throat and he is ignoring by force of will the voice that's warning him to _stop, shut up, calm down, be nice._

"I can afford to," Tony says, choosing exactly the wrong words and doing it on purpose.

Bruce looks at him for a moment, considering. Then he gets up. Then he leaves.

Tony shoves his empty coffee cup across the table, but that's not enough, so he grabs his pen and leans back across the table so he can violently scribble out part of his design-in-progress. "Oof," he says to the room at large.

~

Bruce walks at a moderate pace down all of the stairs (elevators are bad places to be in near-Hulk situations) and then makes for the revolving doors with every intention of going out them and not coming back.

Thor has finally figured out the revolving doors well enough to go through them with godlike grace.

"Bruce?" he says, breaking into a smile as he makes his way into the building. He keeps smiling, despite seeing Bruce's face. Bruce edges to one side of the revolving door, hoping to get out through the normal kind before Thor can reverse directions.

"Bruce," Thor says firmly, coming into Bruce's space but not close enough to touch. "Is something wrong?"

"Not with me," Bruce says helpfully. "But your friend Tony has many, many terrible ailments. You should go see to him."

Thor frowns, trying to figure out how many parts of this are a metaphor or a joke. "Did you quarrel?" he asks finally, extrapolating from what Bruce has said in the past.

"We don't need to quarrel for me to hate him," Bruce says shortly.

Thor nods, concerned. Bruce doesn't look well. "So you do hate him, then," he says. "I'm sorry he's given offense." Mostly he wishes he'd gotten here sooner. He wants to touch Bruce, but he thinks perhaps he's learned when the good and bad times are. This is not a good time.

"Eccentricity," Bruce says, violently quiet, "just means you're too much of a coward to make use of what other people can't afford."

Thor has too little context, either in regard to this conversation or just in regard to Midgard in general, to understand, so he just nods. "He can be very hurtful at times," he says. "He's certainly made me angry often enough."

"I don't care that he's a prick," Bruce snaps. "I care that he can make my fucking mistakes and get away with it."

That's not what he means to say. But this, Thor does understand, at least partially. The particulars don't matter at the moment.

"Ah," he says. Then, "In my experience, people like that don't get away with it forever." It's cruel, and it's something from Asgard that he'd rather have left behind, but it's also true.

Bruce says, "That's not what I--" That doesn't make him feel better, is what he means. Just because Tony Stark is idiotically reckless and self-destructive, and Bruce hates him, does not mean Bruce wants him to self-destruct. He just wants--something other than his life. To not be on the Avengers guest list, for example, only because they're afraid of what will happen if they don't invite him and he gets offended.

"I know," Thor says, understanding without having it spelled out for one. "It's not nice. But you're nice." He steps a little closer, slowly and in a non-threatening manner. "I'm sorry about your morning. I brought herbal tea."

Bruce stares at him. His anger is out like a light (like a burnt-out light), and he doesn't feel any better.

"I'd like tea," he says. His voice catches a little. "Tony wanted coffee but he kept touching me instead. I'm not a source of caffeine." He's still staring at Thor like the distance between them is bewildering and insurmountable.

Thor frowns. "I dislike that," he says. "People shouldn't touch you." He means _because you hate it_ , but it sounds like, _Because I hate it._

Bruce chuckles in a startled, awkward way. "Even you?" he asks.

Thor smiles. "Sometimes even me. But I trust that you'll always let me know when I _can."_ He holds out the thermos of tea.

Bruce says, very carefully, "It's not a question of you in particular, but that's not always easy to...do." He tries to reach out for the Thermos ( _a god brought him herbal tea in a Thermos?),_ and his hand sort of skitters back to his side. This is not a day that inspires a great deal of pride in himself.

Thor waits a second. Then he sets the Thermos down at Bruce's feet. "I will learn how to be better at guessing," he says. He is very, very annoyed at Tony Stark. He is going to have to do something about that.

"You could guess now, maybe," Bruce says quickly. "If you want me to come to the meeting, anyway. I could just," he waves at the door.

"I want you to be all right," Thor says in a rush. "If you need to leave, leave. I'll see you after. If you want to come, I'll sit by you and not touch you."

Bruce stands riveted. It's hard to overcome your basic problem with asking to be touched when the person you want keeps promising not to touch you. "Please," he says. "Please don't do that. I told you I won't break."

Thor relaxes. "Oh. I do keep forgetting." Then he realizes he's still talking, so instead, he closes the distance and wraps his arms around Bruce.

Bruce stays tense for a few seconds longer, and then relaxes, all at once and completely, his hands pressing against Thor's back.

"We can go back," he says finally. "I mean we're on this side of the door. Everyone else will show up soon and want to know why I'm leaving. If we didn't go back."

Thor nods and kisses Bruce's forehead. "We'll go back. And afterwards, I will attend to some business. And then perhaps we can see one another."

"I would like that," Bruce says. He nudges the Thor's Thermos accidentally with his toe, and breaks free to bend down and pick it up. He doesn't let go of Thor's hand.


	9. thor objects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Er," says Tony. "Well. No. I mean--that was just--I think maybe Doctor Banner misinterpreted what I was saying, there, a little."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: implied alcohol abuse

Thor stands awkwardly but firmly, not leaving the room. Everyone else is gone and out of earshot.

"Tony," he says, avoiding the word _friend._ "I would have words with you."

Tony, who was actually looking forward to _not being_ in this meeting anymore, _thanks,_ stops halfway through picking up the pile of papers he's left scattered across his part of the table (covering up his designs), and looks up. 

"Sure," he says, with as much cheer as he can muster. "Have words. Have all the words you want. I'm not busy today at all."

Thor nods, accepting this. "Good," he says, still firm. "Then I will tell you that he doesn't like being touched." It's a starting point. One of the easier, less confusing, less _mortal_ ones. And one he has a personal stake in.

Tony swallows. "Who doesn't what?" he says. He knows exactly what Thor means and for some reason he's going about this all wrong anyway. Maybe it's the hour and a half of watching Bruce sullenly despising him from across the room and Thor _regarding_ at him like he kills children as a hobby or something else horrible. It's very nervewracking, and Tony's aptitude for survival only starts somewhere past friendship.

"Bruce," Thor says, taking a step toward Tony, "does not like being touched. Especially by people who are alarming him in other ways at the same time. I hear you are unwell." He crosses his arms and glowers, remembering how upset Bruce looked when he was trying to escape the building.

"Er," says Tony. "Well. No. I mean--that was just--I think maybe Doctor Banner misinterpreted what I was saying, there, a little."

"I know not," Thor says grumpily. "He didn't detail what exactly you said to him, but I understand why he dislikes you so. You hurt him--you hurt _people_ deliberately. Why? _You_ don't dislike _him."_

"No, I," Tony starts, and then he has to stop. Thor had liked him, two hours ago. He was pretty sure.

"You _hurt_ him," Thor repeats. "I could hurt you, or I could ask you why. You're my friend. I can't let this stand. So, why?"

"I didn't mean anything," Tony says. That's uncomfortably true. He made Bruce run out the door and he made Thor hate him, and he didn't even _mean anything._ "I'm sorry."

"You didn't say that to him, though," Thor presses. He feels uncomfortable doing this, because he's not sure Bruce wants or needs it, but _he_ needs it, maybe. "You never say what you mean to the people you mean it about."

Tony can't say, obviously, _Of course I didn't say I was joking, I wasn't joking_ because that will definitely not help. He says, "I was just trying to make conversation. He's the one who started interrogating me. I'm sorry about invading his personal bubble, but I was being friendly, okay? Until poor Bruce started getting personal, anyway."

That also won't help.

Thor takes another step closer, and this time it's more threatening. He's getting truly angry. "Poor Bruce," he says. "Poor Bruce is worth ten of you. Do you realize what you almost did to him? You know what happens if he gets upset. And he's a _person."_ He considers saying more, but he lets that hang. It says, he thinks, a lot.

Tony smiles, although it doesn't feel anything like that. "My apologies," he says. "You're right. I should have kept my temper. It's not like I haven't heard it all before from the paparazzi."

Thor takes a second to parse the word, more from anger than anything else. He's heard Tony use it enough times. "I came here without any preconceptions about you," he says evenly. "But it would seem it makes no difference. If you hurt Bruce again, if you even _begin_ to make him that uncomfortable, things will go ill between us." He hasn't had a proper argument with anyone in ages, and it doesn't feel good, he finds.

 _But I was your friend first,_ Tony wants to protest, and it's stupid and childish and it doesn't matter, because sometimes you're friends for your whole life, you think, and it just means you're too stupid to see them using or disliking or otherwise fundamentally not agreeing with you.

"I didn't mean to," he says again, and it's so upsetting because even he knows it doesn't matter what he meant.

Thor pauses. "Did you truly not?" he says. It doesn't matter, because it still happened, and Tony isn't _completely_ stupid. "You should have known better. You should have _stopped_ and paid attention to what he was saying."

 _I can't,_ he almost says, and then thinks of Bruce saying, _Can't afford a psychiatrist?_ and then just feels guilty and panicky and unequipped to answer Thor's should-have-beens.

"I was afraid he might hate me," he tries to explain. "I was trying to--"

And failing, apparently. What the hell is he ever trying to do, trying like that?

Thor sighs shortly. "I know," he says. "I'm sure you were." Tony is always _trying,_ but his roads to trying seem different than other people's. "Now you know that you need to stop trying and leave him be," he says. "At least until you can act like the human that you are."

"I guess I can't just fix it, then?" Tony says with a laugh. "Flowers from me probably wouldn't mean much." His voice is almost entirely steady, and hell, he is going to toast himself with scotch when he gets out of here, _just_ for being so fucking brave.

"Just don't do it again, and that will suffice," Thor says. "For me, anyhow. For Bruce...just stay out of his space." He turns to go, then thinks he's been too harsh, _then_ remembers Bruce's face again.

"Are you sure I can't," Tony starts, but no. Obviously no. Thor is going to look at him in a horrible Obie kind of way, now, because he decided to open his mouth. Obviously the answer is no.

Thor sighs. "You've done enough today, my friend," he says, half cruel, half relenting. "Just...give us both space to calm down."

 _But I have to fix it,_ Tony wants to shout. _You don't understand._ Except if Thor did understand, he still wouldn't give Tony what he wants. _Needs._ What he needs. There's just going to be this error, instead, dangling and aching and impossible to tidy up.

"Whatever you say," he says instead, bravest little toaster, and that is a _weird_ idiom to use when you're usually dressed up in a high-tech appliance. "If it wouldn't make things worse, please--let Dr. Banner know I apologize."

Thor nods. "I appreciate that. I hope he will." He softens a little more. "He should. I think you mean it. I should go and see him now, to make sure he's all right." Maybe that's unfair, but.

Tony blinks and nods. "Right," he says. His voice catches a little. Okay, so, brandy, not scotch. That'll smooth things out. "I'll see ya, though," he says brightly. "Next meeting. Or whenever."

A little desperate.

"Yes," Thor says. "Farewell, friend. Until next time." Then he turns and walks out.

"Bye," Tony says hopefully, after Thor is already halfway down the hall. Then he sits down, not at all hopefully, and stares at the papers in his hands without being able to focus on them. Eventually he squares the whole stack of them neatly against the table, stands up, and drops them all into the trash. Fuck it. None of his ideas today can be worth the effort. He straightens his jacket and tries to look pleasant and thinks very hard about having a drink in a room with a lock that no one else can get through.


	10. steve rogers is practically perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve watches Tony, looking hunched over and tired and overwhelmed and uncertain. Steve thinks, _Someone should take care of you_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: implied alcohol abuse

Tony has been doing things for a few days now, but he's not really sure what any of them are, or _why_ they are. He's mostly sober now, but he's still not _making_ things, which...He doesn't know. He's always making things. So today he's sitting in his kitchen, not making things.

Steve doesn't expect to find him in the kitchen. He points this out to Tony when he arrives there and sees Tony slumping over a teacup. "Hello, Tony. I didn't expect to find you in the kitchen," Steve says. "But--Jarvis let me know where you'd..."

Steve is still not entirely comfortable with the idea of Jarvis as a machine, instead of the older gentleman Steve had imagined when Tony first mentioned the name.

Tony looks at him balefully. Apparently Steve is here to make him feel worse. "Did you just let yourself in to ruin my day?" he asks, despite the fact that clearly JARVIS let Steve in and _clearly_ Tony's day is way past ruined.

"No," Steve says, surprised. "Jarvis let me in. You said last week you wanted to have lunch. With me," he adds, in case that detail got lost somehow.

"Ohh," Tony says. Then he says, "Pepper keeps my schedule. And Pepper has determined that maybe I'm a walking disaster and she should give herself the day off." Probably none of that is true, but she hasn't reminded him and he hasn't seen her all day. "Sit down," he adds belatedly.

Steve does so, cautiously. "Tony," he says, "are you doing all right?"

Tony blinks at him. "Uh." There is really, really nothing to say to that. The person he least wants to disappoint has caught him at a time when he can be nothing but disappointing. "No?" he tries. "Maybe not?"

Steve leans in and reaches for Tony's cup of tea. It's not even lukewarm. "Can I make you another cup?" he asks, standing up.

Tony blinks at him. "You're not human," he says. It was meant to be a joke, but he just feels miserable about it. "Yup," he tells the tabletop. "Not even a little."

Steve says, "Where is your tea?" and then "Never mind, I'll find it." He pokes around until he finds a canister of tea bags, and surveys the tea kettle and the gas range with satisfaction. Old-fashioned is _not,_ as he has pointed out a lot, necessarily bad. He fills the kettle and turns on the burner and dumps out Tony's cold tea to replace it with a fresh tea bag. There's a mug with the word 'cat' on it in at least ten different languages at the front of a cupboard; Steve takes that, to make himself a cup as well.

"Do you like cats?" he asks, looking at it.

Tony wants to scream _not a person_ at the air in general, but that's unproductive. "Thor and Bruce hate me," he says instead. Because, true. Sort of. It _feels_ true. "Do you think that will affect the team?"

Steve puts down the cat mug and turns around. "They don't hate you!" he says.

Tony laughs unhappily. "Yeah? Because Thor kind of yelled at me. And Bruce definitely fled from me. And it was almost certainly my fault. I mean, I did it on _purpose."_ Kind of. Sort of. He rounds up.

Steve goes back over and drags his chair closer to Tony's before he sits down. "What exactly did you do?" he asks, careful not to sound accusatory. That's exactly what he's not, but Tony worries about things like that. As evidenced by this conversation, Steve supposes.

Tony is confused. Steve is listening to what he _means,_ not what he's saying, or at least he thinks so. That's terrifying. "I," he says. "Well, I think I listed my mental health problems, acted superior because I'm rich, hit on Bruce, and gave Thor a very genuine apology which he only sort of accepted."

Some of this makes Steve slightly uncomfortable--all of it, actually--so he focuses on one point until he can get a grip on everything else. "You think?"

Tony blinks. "I did," he says. "Hey, could you stop cutting through the bullshit? I kind of need that." Ouch, too true.

"Sorry," says Steve, slightly startled. He didn't know he was doing anything objectionable, and even if he had, getting under the bullshit is the only real way he has of fixing things. Which, he thinks, Tony _seems_ to need.

"No, I just," Tony says. "It's alarming. You're alarming. I mean no, no, I can't keep saying what I don't mean. I'm just jealous, that's all. I mean about Bruce."

Steve stares at him. "I have no idea what you're saying now," he says.

Tony tries to slow down. "I know," he says. "That was on purpose. I just mean...Look, I think I was accidentally-on-purpose really mean to Bruce because he gets to have a functional relationship and--and it's irritating." Which is a weak fake-out of an end to that story, but he's not fooling anyone anyway.

"Oh," Steve says, who doesn't _think_ he's fooled, but really isn't-- "Will it make you feel better if he becomes the Hulk in the middle of Manhattan and innocent people get hurt? He might not be so stable, then, but I can't see how it would do you any good."

"Do you not understand things like spite?" Tony snaps. "My dad said you were damn near perfect, but I'm starting to think he just had weird priorities."

Steve presses his lips together in a thin line. "Tony," he says. "Shut up. You're not angry at me. And if you are, it's only because you still think I'm some kind of bedtime story."

He doesn't think about the possible double meaning to that last part until he's already said it. He blushes a little when the thought dawns.

Tony is momentarily so baffled by Steve seeing right through him that by the time he notices the double entendre, he can only manage a belated "Heh." Then he says, "Sorry. I mean that. Sorry. Why is that so easy to say to you, when all I can say to Bruce is that he has nice eyes and that I'm rich?"

Steve laughs in surprise. He does like that Tony can do this, be consistently unexpected. "I don't know," he says. "I haven't ever noticed Bruce's eyes before."

Tony breaks into a grin, horribly relieved about this conversation suddenly. "Yeah? Me neither, to be honest. I guess I checked after I said it. They're okay."

Steve says seriously, "Well, it's good to be aware of these things." The kettle squeals at him and he stands up to make the tea. With his back turned it's easier to say, "The relationship thing. Why does it matter if he has one or not? I mean him in particular. Is it him in particular?"

"Oh," Tony says, and then thinking about it, "no. No, it's more who he's in it with." But no, no, that's not right, exactly. "It's more," he says, "that he's the same kind of mess I am and he's still good enough to make someone good care." He stares at Steve's back in alarm. Honesty is _horrible;_ who ever thought this was a good idea?

Steve frowns. He turns around with mugs in hand and stands over Tony and says, "Milk or sugar?" in a voice that he recognizes as _total perplexity._

"Sugar, no milk," Tony says automatically. "Sorry, was that just--awful? Like, completely? Was it pathetic and gross? I can't tell. I'm hung over."

"I can see that," Steve says. He puts down both mugs and hunts for a sugar bowl. When he finds it, and milk, for himself, he sets them both down firmly on the table and says, "Are you suggesting that you're _not_ good? Or good enough?"

Tony opens his mouth and then closes it. People don't confront him with the truth. They just _don't._ They listen when he throws huge volumes of words at him and then they go away.

"Uh," he says. "I've been told." It was supposed to be funny, but it's just true.

Steve can't help looking as angry as he feels. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," he says.

Steve angry is kind of beautiful, Tony thinks. Especially when he's angry about this. "Yeah," Tony says, "Well. Tell that to...people." Several. Some of them important.

"I will!" Steve says loudly. "Tell me who they are and I will tell them exactly how stupid they are! You work harder than practically anyone I've met to do the right thing. What the hell do they think Iron Man is?"

Tony's fingers clutch at his cup convulsively. It's possible this is a nice dream. "Um," he says helpfully, "Mostly the two important ones are dead."

Steve stares at him, going red in the face. "Well if they ever come back," he says, still too loudly, "I'll tell them how--how stupid they are."

Tony swallows, overwhelmingly grateful. "Thanks." Just thanks, no giant wall of unhelpful words. He really hopes they don't come back. That could happen.

"You're welcome," Steve says. He realizes he's still frowning and tries to loosen up a little. "I mean it, though, Tony, you are a good guy. You got that?"

Tony nods shakily. "So, the best person there basically _is_ just told me I'm a _good guy._ What do I even say to that?"

Steve swallows. "I'm not," he starts, and then restarts. "If I'm that great," he says, "you should trust me."

Tony can count on one hand the people he trusts these days. "Okay," he says. "I mean, yeah, I do. Teammates. I do." He drinks the tea to avoid embarrassing himself further.

Steve watches him, looking hunched over and tired and overwhelmed and uncertain. Steve thinks, _Someone should take care of you_.

"Tony!" he says abruptly, failing to cover up his blushing at all.

"Steve," Tony says steadily, but really he feels like he's about to cry. He won't, because he doesn't really do that, but he feels like it.

Steve says, without planning ahead, "Whatever you drank really didn't do you any favors, did it? You're not even putting on the charm for me today." He smiles to show he's not judging Tony for anything.

Tony gives him a helpless, genuine smile and a tiny shrug. "Oh, god. Yeah. Really...not. Next time, I promise, sugar." Has Steve noticed what he's been doing? Has Steve noticed what he _means?_ Not important now, but worth wondering about.

"You don't need the charm," Steve says immediately, so he won't think better of it. "But I fully endorse a plan that saves you hangovers." And whatever else Tony is doing to himself this way.

Tony isn't sure he believes any of this is really happening. "I see," he says, not entirely truthfully. "No hangovers. No charm needed to achieve desired results." Whatever those are. "I'll write it down."

"If that'll help," Steve says, smiling crookedly. "I don't know about the situation of your stomach, but do you want to still have lunch, maybe?"

A distant thought suggests to Steve that maybe he is offering too much--except it doesn't feel like that. It feels fine. And Steve _wants_ with surprising intensity for Tony Stark to be all right.

Tony slows himself down again. "Yes," he says, making sure not to mask it with words he doesn't mean or means too much and too loudly. "Yeah, let's have lunch. That would be really nice." Okay. He got through that without any horrible errors. He smiles. Steve, normal-but-really-nice-human-after-all, wants to have lunch.

"Oh, good," Steve says. "If you want to, uh, take a shower first and wash away the dregs, I can--wait here. I should finish my tea in any case," he adds, slightly anxious that he's being too forward.

Tony laughs. "Don't worry, I'll make myself presentable. Feel free to wander around, check stuff out. Back in fifteen."

He flees before he can say anything else, but he feels incredibly pleased and relieved and _human._

"I think I'd get lost," Steve calls after him, but Tony doesn't seem to hear. That leaves Steve in Tony's kitchen with a cup of tea covered in cats, thinking with total certainty that no matter what Tony himself says and no matter what anyone else thinks, the younger Stark is a good thing. Better than the last one?

Yes, Steve decides. He likes this one better than the last one.

~

Steve enjoys his lunch with Tony, but he is (surprisingly) worried that Tony doesn't flirt at _all._ And, when he drops Tony off at home afterwards, Tony still looks tired and uneasy, even if he's not drooping into the ground the way he was before.

Because of this, Steve decides maybe he should have a talk with Thor.

He's not sure how to do that, and for a moment has the terrible thought that, irony of ironies, he might have to talk to Bruce to get to Thor, but with a great deal of relief he remembers Nick Fury, and soon he ends up in a quiet conference room with only himself and Thor in it.

"Thanks for coming," Steve says.

Thor frowns, perplexed. "Of course," he says. He likes Steve very much and understands him in the basic way that two people trying to help save the world in earnest understand one another, but sometimes Steve can be utterly alien. Thor suspects he's not the only one who feels this way, for once.

"What did you wish to discuss?" he asks, hoping he hasn't done something wrong by accident and offended Steve.

"I just wanted to make sure things are all right, on the team," Steve says. "I noticed some tension--" But that's a lie, and it's not a useful one. "Tony said he did something to upset you and Bruce, and I'm worried about a schism in the team," he says more honestly. "Also about him."

"About him?" Thor repeats, furrowing his brow. "Ah." Perhaps Tony was lashing out because he was upset. Perhaps. "I," he says deliberately, "was worried about _Bruce._ Who nearly changed because of what Tony said." Thor realizes he isn't sure what words he feels comfortable using for Bruce "turning into" Hulk.

"I'm aware that Tony --" _Spouts a lot of utter shit,_ Steve thinks, but he's not going to say that to anyone outside his head. "--is tactless. I'm sure you're aware that a lot of it doesn't mean anything. But I'm not here to be his apologist, I'm just asking how things stand with him, between you and Bruce, because on Tony's end, they're...not great."

Thor nods. That, he can understand. At least Steve speaks his mind. "I didn't mean to upset Tony as much as I think I did," he says. "But I was angry that he hurt Bruce, and I didn't realize how upset he was until it was too late." Thor never wants to _hurt_ people, not with words.

"I'm not sure Bruce is ready to forgive him," he adds.

Steve sighs and scrubs his face with his hand.

"Tony was right," he says. "He and Bruce really are the same. Really good at wallowing." He looks up. "Listen, do you know exactly what it is that got Bruce so upset?"

Thor hesitates, unsure if it's all right to say. "Yes," he says. "He wouldn't get out of his personal space and he...got away with things Bruce doesn't get away with. Because he's rich and eccentric." Most of the phrasing isn't his.

"Oh, of course," Steve says a little helplessly. "I think--Thor, can I speak to you in confidence?"

"Naturally," Thor says. He tries to make sure, these days, that he always respects private conversations. Mostly.

"I think Bruce and Tony have a lot in common," he says. "I think maybe they see themselves in each other. When one of them gets something good, it's--kind of a blow to the other one." He adds, "Whatever Bruce thinks Tony gets away with, I don't think Tony is happy about it."

"Oh," Thor says. Then he says, "To be quite honest, I am unsure what exactly it is. Just...life, I think. You must admit no one tries to hunt Tony down." Exactly. With tanks, anyhow. "He's not treated like a monster or--or not human." Thor realizes very fast he probably shouldn't have said some of the things he said to Tony.

"I think you're not factoring in," Steve says with quiet anger, though it's not anger at Thor, "that most of the people Tony has trusted have either betrayed him or treated him like a--well, like a joke. Or a chore. As for everybody else, as I hear it, he's tabloid gossip." He shrugs. "Bruce's problem is something a little different, but people don't care who gets put in a circus as long as they can stick the name 'freak' on it."

Thor relents a little, largely because Steve is angry, and he respects Steve's anger. He respects Steve. "I didn't think of it that way," he admits. "He hides it well when he's upset, and I...When he speaks of his past, I can never tell how sincere he's being." Maybe very sincere, Thor realizes. It's one form of defense mechanism, lying with the truth. He knows people who do that.

"I know," Steve says. "He does that on purpose, I think. It's stupid as hell, and it always makes people angry, but I don't think he knows how to stop."

Thor didn't really _know_ Tony, maybe. Not honestly. "I had the wrong impression of him," he admits sheepishly. "He hides himself well, but if what you say is true, he's a lot like Bruce. In some ways."

"Here's what I know," Steve says. "It's that Tony didn't mean to hurt him. He'd never deliberately bring the Hulk out of him. And he won't ever say anything to you or Bruce if you don't ask, but he's been upset about this for days." Steve hesitates, but says, a little anxious, "'Upset' in Tony's case may not be what it is for Bruce, but it's still destructive. I _am_ worried about him."

For a long moment, Thor's brain is stuck on _bring the Hulk out of him._ Steve has, perhaps without meaning to, understood something very important about Bruce. Then he catches up with the rest of the conversation and says, "As I was worried about Bruce. I understand. I'm no longer angry, Steve. And next time I'll choose my words with more care." That's part of what he needs to say. The rest is more a matter of curiosity.

Steve says, "Do you think you can get Bruce to come around? I know I'm sounding partial to Tony in this conversation, and I guess I just think he needs someone to talk for him--" _without all his shit_ "--like you are for Bruce. But there's no one in this conversation I want to be unhappy. And what I said about the team..."

Thor chuckles, then realizes that Steve isn't being funny. "The team," he says. "Of course. And your relationship."

"My what?" says Steve.

"With Tony," Thor continues cheerfully. "It's amusing, really, that we have such similar taste. Then again, I suppose we have much in common." He smiles hopefully at Steve.

"Oh, I'm not," Steve says, a little wildly. "Tony just likes to flirt, he wouldn't. I wouldn't. It's not that way."

"Oh?" Thor says. "Are you certain of that?" Of course Steve is certain, but Thor thought...Tony made it sound...

"I'm pretty sure," Steve says, and it's meant to sound humorous, but instead it sounds slightly pleading. Does that mean that Tony has _meant_ all the jokes he's been making since Steve woke up last year?

He remembers with sudden clarity that in the last conversation they'd had, Tony had said he wanted someone good to love him, and then he had called Steve _the best person there basically is._

Did he... _mean_ that?

Steve looks alarmed. Thor pats his shoulder, since Steve is one person who can be counted upon to react well to that. "If you're not, then I feel even worse for him."

"What?" Steve says, losing grip on this conversation very quickly. "Why?"

Thor raises his eyebrows. "Because he clearly has feelings for you," he says. "Didn't you know? Wasn't it obvious?" Perhaps he should stop talking now.

"Oh," says Steve blankly. "Oh. Uh, so, could you talk to Bruce maybe?"

"Yes!" Thor says, glad to be on firmer ground. "I shall convey the information that Tony is very unhappy in his life." That should give them something in common they can't hate each other for.

"That's not exactly what I meant," Steve says distractedly.

"Mm," Thor says. "I think I know how to talk to Bruce." He pauses. "Were you really unaware?"

"I--" Steve starts unhappily. "I guess so. I--I thought he was just like that towards..." All his friends? Wasn't Steve just arguing that Tony barely had those? "I didn't know," he finishes lamely.

Thor smiles. "I know," he says. "Tony is...like that. But he talks that way about you when you're not even there, Steve."

Steve blushes furiously. "Thor," he says. "Thanks for the chat. I hope Bruce is okay. Let me know if there's anything else I can do. I'm sorry, I really have to run."

"I understand," Thor says amicably, sort of understanding. "Don't worry, Bruce will be fine. They both will, with us to look after them."

"Right," says Steve. "Well, good. See you around." He stands up and is halfway out the door before he remembers to stick his head back in and say, "Bye!"

He can't go up to Tony's first, but he doesn't honestly think that the real first step (thinking of what to say) is going to take that long.


	11. steve rogers discovers that he's dating tony stark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Uh," Tony says. "You and your past-words aren't actually helping a lot. Steve, are you _gay?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: none!

Tony has been doing better since Steve forced him to stop getting drunk alone, but he still feels off. And Steve keeps being alarming in new ways that would possible turn into a good thing if Tony could slow down and see it. And Bruce probably still hates him. Steve can't change that. So mostly Tony's been pacing the Tower and drinking everything he can get his hands on that isn't alcoholic.

Steve doesn't know this, but in fact his afternoon has been a lot like Tony's. He has been pacing (outdoors) for the last two hours, occasionally making alarming noises (out loud) and throwing his arms up in the air. He's glad not to be as easily recognized out of uniform as he used to be. It would be less than spectacular for public morale if they noticed Captain America speeding back and forth across Central Park shouting at himself.

He does stop pacing, though, and collects himself, and walks briskly and normally back to the Avengers Tower, trying not to blush too hard and trying to keep his heartbeat under control. He keeps very still in the elevator, since he _knows_ it's watching him, and makes sure to already be in mid-stride when the door opens, so he winds up at Tony's door and is ringing the bell before he can decide whether to walk across the hall to get there.

Tony is just about to sit down and stop moving for five seconds (honestly, yes, this was his actual plan) when his security system and then, shortly after, his _door,_ loudly indicate that someone is here to see him.

"Great," Tony says. He opens the door cautiously, hoping he's calmed himself down enough that he won't say something mean or crazy if it's someone nice.

"Tony!" Steve says abruptly. He doesn't feel that he looks as calm as he wants to. "I would really like to speak to you! I've been thinking very hard about something, but I don't think I should think about it anymore unless I know for certain what you're thinking. About it. If you...have time."

Tony opens his mouth and then closes it. "What?" he says. Because suddenly Steve is the one being confusing. New and horrifying. "Come in?" he suggests, hoping that'll help.

"Thank you," Steve says gratefully, and does. Tony's--house? apartment? suite?--living space is usually a little more immaculate than it is today. Steve checks, though, and he truly doesn't think Tony's been drinking. That's good. That's better than how it's been. "How are you?" he asks, half as a distracted platitude, but also because he wants to know.

"Oh," Tony says. "Good. Look, you didn't come flying in here all pink with your hair sticking up to ask me how I am. Did you? Because that would be...baffling." He's running through the possibilities in his mind, and all he can think of are horrible things. (And good things, but he's not going to think about those.)

"Oh," says Steve, and starts trying to mash his hair flat again. "N-no, I--well, I kind of did, but--Tony, could we sit down? I've been walking for hours."

Tony gives Steve a tight little smile. "Me too. But mostly around the same five rooms." He drops until the couch, hoping Steve will follow suit. Oh, god, what is happening?

"I was in the park," Steve says helplessly, sitting down next to Tony. He lets go of the idea that he might have good hair sometime, and clasps his hands tightly in the air between his knees. "Tony," he says, "I know I'm old-fashioned and a little slow about things, but do you--um, do you have feelings for me?"

He's certainly not holding his blushing in now. _That's_ embarrassing as hell.

"Oh," Tony says. Then, because he's a self-sabotaging asshole and because he's _terrified,_ he says, "Where the hell did you get that idea?"

"Oh!" Steve says back. "Oh, I'm sorry. Thor said--I know he's not always good with human beings, but he was pretty obstinate about it. I'm--I'm sorry, if I--" He stops short. "Hey. You're lying to me, aren't you?"

"Shit," Tony says. Then, more shakily, " _Shit._ Okay, you caught me. Damn it." Wow, he doesn't feel at _all_ bad now about telling Bruce what Thor said. Next time he sees Bruce, he'll add the part about the fingers. Only _not,_ because he's trying to make things _better._

"I don't think it's something you have to be upset about," Steve says more mildly.

Tony swallows, or tries. "Yeah?" he says. "Are you telling me this isn't a 'back off and stop being a creep' visit?" He's pretty sure he doesn't really believe Steve would feel that way, but he has to check. He has to push. He thought he was being obvious, but not enough to be taken seriously. Not enough to get _caught._

Steve frowns. "No. It's not that kind of visit. You--have been telling me how you feel for weeks. Months. Haven't you? You just keep pretending it's not true."

"Oh, god," Tony says. He wishes he'd never made any of those stupid, true jokes or done any of that stupid, true flirting. He also wishes he weren't on this couch. "Yeah," he says after a few seconds of tense hand motions. "Yeah, I have."

Steve nods. "I'm sorry," he says, "that I didn't understand earlier."

"I'm glad you didn't," Tony says quickly. "Because you were from the past and I was a _crazy person."_ Those things are still true, but he hopes there are enough mitigating factors to make this not horrible.

Steve smiles. "I was from the past," he agrees. Then his expression changes. "Oh. Tony. I'm not _angry._ Or--disgusted or what have you. I--listen, Tony, it was hard back then to figure out that there was anything other than a wife and some kids and a dog to even think about wanting. And--people who did weren't as gung-ho about the war as me, I think. And, if you did get into something--out of the ordinary--it was easy to write it off. It was the war, you know, people were all making do."

He feels awful saying that, knowing it's exactly the excuse he made to himself, and that it wasn't good enough then, either.

"Uh," Tony says. "You and your past-words aren't actually helping a lot. Steve, are you _gay?"_ It's only a portion of the right question, but there's a part of Tony's that's apparently still a kid and is yelling _Captain America is GAY! Like you! Kind of! You know!_

"Um," says Steve. By this time he must look like he's about to kick the bucket from a bad case of apoplexy. "Yes."

Tony lets out a whoosh of breath. "Wow," he says. "That's one for the history books." He says it because the other option is asking what comes next.

"Please don't say that," Steve says, slightly horrified.

"Oh, no," Tony says hurriedly. "No, I mean, me neither. I mean, I don't--I try to keep my private life private, too. So I wouldn't ever--yeah." (Trying and succeeding are two different things, but that's not the point.)

He takes a deep breath and digs his fingers into the couch. "I meant, hey, I like you."

"I know," Steve says. _That's rude,_ he realizes. "I mean, I--I like you, too, it's just that we come from very different places. And I've never...Tony, I've never said yes to that question before."

"I know." Tony wants to make sure he packs in all the words that mean _I'm not going to rush you,_ but he can't get it all out right. "It's okay. Just--I don't want to push anything." He holds up his hands to prove that he means it. "But I swear it's okay."

Steve runs his hand through his hair again, and probably makes it worse than it started off. "I don't know if it makes things better or worse," he says, "but you--you do make me want to take care of you. Please don't be offended."

"I'm not," Tony says quietly. "Because you, uh, don't mean anything offensive by it. Or even dismissive. And that's amazing, that's--I don't even know. That doesn't happen. And that's just one of the reasons I...have the feelings." It's a cowardly ending, but fair enough for now.

"Oh, good," Steve says, relieved. "I don't want you to think I'm condescending to you. You're smarter than almost--no, actually, I think you're the smartest person I've ever met."

"Jesus," Tony says shakily. "Steve, you--You're the only person who's ever treated me like an adult and not a _problem._ I just want to say that, so you know. And hey, it turns out you're an adult and not just some pretty propaganda."

Steve grins. "I'm glad you think so," he says. "Although I hope you still think I'm pretty, at least."

Tony blushes, because it's _Steve,_ and suddenly Steve is saying all the things Tony's thought about. Well, some of them.

"Oh," he says, recovering badly, "You are _so_ pretty, Steve Rogers."

Steve glances down at his hands, where he's clasped them together again. He's trembling. Must mean he's either getting something incredibly right or doing something entirely stupid.

"Tony," he says carefully, "I was thinking about this when I was in the park earlier. I mean I was thinking about this whole thing, and also this conversation, which I assumed we'd be having, and...I have an honest question. Do you think we'd be okay to each other? Can we be equals, and not get each other hurt, or treat each other like less than we're worth? Would it hurt either of us to be--to be together?"

Tony swallows. Fuck. That's a _huge_ question. "That's a huge question," he tells Steve, because honesty deserves honesty. "I mean, you know me, right? I don't really know how to treat people well. And I don't want one more person's who's just stuck taking care of me. I want to say it would be okay, but I don't want..." He can't stop lacing and unlacing his fingers. "I don't want to wind up being wrong and letting you down," he says finally. "Because you don't deserve that."

Steve nods. He's stumped for answers, for the moment. Finally (slowly), he says, "It would be smart to wait, wouldn't it?"

"Uh," Tony says, both relieved and disappointed. "Wait? Yes. But, no. Because, for what, exactly? I won't be less of an asshole. You won't be--whatever's wrong with you, it won’t go away." He's pretty sure Steve is a real person with real problems (he's delighted whenever he sees Steve's temper), but he doesn't really know what they are at this particular moment.

"I'm superior and overzealous and I pretend things aren't true even when the people I love get hurt because I'm doing it," Steve offers helpfully. "Also, despite military training, I never put my laundry in the hamper."

Tony breaks into a huge, stupid smile. "So, hey," he says. "Those things aren't bad things. Those things aren't things that would make this fail. You think?" Now he's excited about Steve's flaws. This is truly pathetic.

Steve frowns. "What if I turn into one of those people who treats you like a kid?" he asks. "What if I screw up and stop just being there and start trying to fix you? What if you can't figure out how to--" He blushes again; it's turning into a bad habit. "To take care of me back?" It goes against his first instincts to worry about something like that last part, but the whole point’s been that he’s trying to get past his first instincts. He’s not stupid enough to think taking care of each other can be one-sided, for this to turn out okay.

"Okay," Tony says, actually putting his hand on Steve's shoulder without panicking. "Okay, okay, just one thing at a time. That's not going to happen. I'm not going to let it. I've had practice." Practice _failing,_ but that's not the point. "We'll check each other. We're adults." He hopes very hard that he's right.

Steve is relieved. Steve looks relieved. "You'll tell me if I'm being a sanctimonious jerk?" he asks.

Tony laughs. "I always tell people that, I promise. Even people I like." He is going to put in the legwork to make this function correctly. He can do it with machines, so why not people?

"God almighty," Steve says, suddenly overwhelmed. He shakes his head. "I'm sorry," he says. "I'm over-thinking. I came over because I thought if you'd like it I could kiss you, and instead I just keep talking about...everything. That's not what I meant to do. I apologize."

"You're becoming me and it's terrible," Tony says firmly, trying to ignore the fact that his hands are shaking. To stop them, he grabs Steve's hands, and then, because he can't stop, he kisses Steve.

"That might be a concern," Steve mumbles into Tony's mouth. But he's too polite to keep talking like that. He kisses Tony back, which is _nice,_ and untangles his hands from Tony’s to rest them against Tony's back. He pulls Tony forward until they're close, until there's no space between them, and just a little glow.


	12. thor of all people gives dating advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Is it really okay to be--talking about this kind of thing?" he says in a low voice. It feels like a victory that he didn't say _okay to be like this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Steve is from the forties (internalized homophobia)

"I know this must seem awkward," Steve says. Thor doesn't look sure whether it's awkward or not, mostly because Steve hasn't told him why they're alone in the same room, again, already. Although it’s a cafe this time, so they’re not exactly alone. Steve isn’t sure why he thought this was a good place for the--kind of conversation he wants to have, but it seemed better than to keep talking about Tony in the Avengers Tower.

"It seems odd, at least," Thor concedes. He's quite sure he can't have offended anyone else in Steve's life so soon, especially as he's barely spoken to anyone since their last discussion. "Have I upset you or Tony in some way?" he asks, just to be safe.

"No," Steve says. "I--well, I'm actually wondering if I could get some...some personal advice. You can say no," he adds quickly, waving at Thor like he can stave off discomfort.

Thor chuckles, then stops, because Steve already seems uncomfortable. "I'm sorry," he says, "I'm just amused that anyone is coming to me for advice. It's a new experience. But of course I'll help if I can." He can't imagine what Steve, who seems to have such a sensible, balanced life, could need advice on. The only thing anyone has ever wanted Thor's advice on is battle, and this doesn't sound like that kind of advice. Baffling.

"Well," Steve says, crossing his legs and frowning at his toes and sticking his hands in his pockets. "All right, I don't want to cross the line saying this, but it seems like you'd know as well as anybody what to do about somebody who, ah--how to look out for somebody who..." He stops, perplexed, and wonders if he's going to think a useful finish to that sentence anytime soon.

"Tony and Bruce do have some similarities," Thor prompts. He knows what Steve means, because he's said it before, but he doesn't have any idea why. He hopes he didn't cause any trouble last time. He wasn't trying to (much), and certainly not for Steve.

"That's--we weren't going together before!" Steve bursts out (he’s relieved to see that nobody looks up). Thor keeps assuming a whole history between Steve and Tony that doesn't even exist, and it's really--consternating.

Thor frowns. "You mean you--Ah. I assumed you at least had some idea that he felt that way, from the how he spoke of you." Then he stops and thinks about it. "Before? What about now?" If he's accidentally done Tony a good turn, then...there are worse things, actually.

"Well, now's not before," Steve says doggedly, but he sees Thor's look and gives in. "You were right. I was being oblivious. Look, long story short, we're together, and I don't know where to start. With anything." He glances around.

Thor breaks into a giant smile, before realizing it might be intimidating and turning it down a little. He's--he's played _matchmaker._ Semi-accidentally, but still.

"I'll advise you as best I can," he says, "but I warn you, old though I am, this is my first experience with Midgardian dating."

"But you're doing all right, aren't you? You and Bruce. And he seems like a good guy, but so's Tony, and neither of them are--easy to deal with. How do you...make him not start hating you?" He hears what he's asking--an earnest question of how another man keeps his _boyfriend happy?_ The present dazes him a little. 

He tries hard to look like he’s not looking around at all the people who are in the cafe with them. They don’t look like they’re revolted, or even paying attention, but it still makes Steve feel claustrophobic. 

"Is it really okay to be--talking about this kind of thing?" he says in a low voice. It feels like a victory that he didn't say _okay to be like this._

Thor reaches out and squeezes Steve's arm companionably. He suddenly feels much less alone. "In Asgard," he says softly, "the prince was expected to marry a beautiful woman when he became king. That was to be my life and there were no other options. But then I came here. Does that answer your last question?"

"I--I don't know," Steve says, and that's the truth. He doesn't know if what Thor is saying makes him feel better or worse.

But, Thor doesn't take offense that easily.

Steve says, "Does that mean here's a better place, or just that here you can...do the wrong thing and get away with it?"

Thor shakes his head. "I have no easy answer for that, but I know that I'm happier here than I was there, and that people around me are happier. And even in Asgard, I had friends who were..." He thinks it might be too soon to spring the Warriors Three on Steve. "It was done," he says. "By some of the best people I know. And no one suffered for it."

Steve nods, just to acknowledge that he's listening and grateful. He’s keenly aware of the ebb and flow of other people past their table. He tries not to let it matter; they’re in New York. He’s told that means no one cares who you’re--what you’re doing.

 _I'm a little worried,_ he wants to say.

 _I'm scared,_ is what he means. That it's not okay, and he's committed to something he can't really do.

"Do you ever _feel_ like you're doing something wrong?" he manages, although just asking feels like a horrible betrayal of Tony.

"No," Thor says firmly. Then he checks himself to make sure and says more slowly, "No. I don't. I used to do what I wanted with impunity, but since coming here, I've thought about each and every thing I've wanted, each and every thing I've done. And I have _never_ felt wrong about Bruce." He pats Steve's arm. "That doesn't mean you can't," he adds. "Just that perhaps you needn't."

"Oh," Steve says. He can't think of anything else to say for a minute or two, but Thor is patient.

"You're being really patient," Steve says. "Thanks."

Thor shrugs, a little embarrassed. "You spend enough time being patient with all, Steve. The least I can do is return the favor. Besides, new relationships are difficult." _And I have someone to talk to about it,_ he realizes. _Someone like me._

Steve nods, conceding both points. "So," he says. "If you're going with...with a man who needs--somebody careful. How do you...? I mean, Tony's an adult. He's smart. How am I supposed to take care of him without being condescending or, or how do I know when I should stop helping and be challenging? I just don't want to _ruin_ anything, trying to be the good guy."

Thor laughs. "My friend," he says, "if I had all those answers, life would be much easier." Then, so as not to alarm Steve, he adds, "You simply have to learn to speak his language. It's taken me a while, with Bruce, and I don't always get it right. I think it's important not to be too careful. Making mistakes is better than hurting him by acting as if he'll break."

"Okay," Steve says. "Yes. Good. That's--that really useful to keep in mind."

"It's also good to remember that he has to do some of the work," Thor says gently.

"Right," Steve says. His cheeks feel hot. He's not sure if they've been that way the whole time and he just didn't notice. "So what you're saying is, treat him like he's capable and--help when he's not. Is that pretty much it?"

"It sounds simple when you put it like that," Thor says. "Simpler than I've found it to be. But I promise you, the complicated moments are worth it a thousand times over."

Steve considers Tony for a few seconds, and then gives Thor a brave but honest smile. "I sort of noticed that--before," he says.

"I thought you might have," Thor says. "Forgive me for pushing you, before."

"Thanks," Steve says. "I've had--a lot of catching up to do."

Thor wants to give Steve a hug, but he's not sure how Steve will respond, so he settles for saying bracingly, "I know. You've done remarkably. Better than I." He laughs at himself and shakes his head.

Steve reaches over and claps a hand to Thor's shoulder. "I'd say you're doing just fine," he says. "Anyway, what you're saying to _me_ makes sense, and I needed to hear it anyway. Pretty badly. So really, thanks."

"Of course," Thor says, pleased and absurdly grateful that he's been a help. Steve is the person here who seems to understand him best, and he'd hate to disappoint. "Tony may be difficult, but as you said, he is an adult. And he means well. I think you'll also manage just fine. How _are_ you managing so far? He must be happy."

"Er," says Steve. "I--I think he's happy. I'm happy. I haven't had something like this before, to be honest. I mean, something I could talk about, or, also, amounted to more than a one-night stand."

Thor clears his throat, suddenly uncomfortable, because the true answer is _Neither have I,_ but he doesn't want to say it. He's been able to avoid mentioning his exploits in Asgard and people have assumed he had a great deal of them.

But because he trusts Steve, he says, "I understand."

Steve grins. "Have I told you how glad I am you're on the team?" he says. "Not for your prowess in battle or anything, just for the company."

"I feel the same," Thor says happily. "And now we can come to each other with questions about our--boyfriends." The word is still a little foreign to him.

Steve laughs, surprised. "I guess that's what we have," he agrees, still a little anxious, but easing his way into all right with it. "I mean, yes, any time you want to talk. About anything. I'm happy to oblige."

"Some of my problems are probably too strange to talk about," Thor says, self-conscious now. "There's the Hulk, of course. That's a little more complicated than anything Tony has in his life."

"I think technically Tony is a nuclear device," Steve counters.

Thor raises his eyebrows. "Ah. In that case..." (He still doesn't know _exactly_ what nuclear means, but he's clear enough on it.) "My apologies," he says. "Of course, Bruce's two halves hate one another. That's difficult."

"I hadn't realized it was," Steve starts, but he's not exactly sure what _it was._ "Better just to agree neither of them are their own best friends." He frowns. "Or, at least, I hope not."

Thor laughs. "Agreed. But I think they'll be all right." He really does, and he feels a lot more kindly disposed toward Tony. He really will have to mention some of this to Bruce. The team should get along.

Steve says, "Uh, I hate to keep doing this, but--I think I should go back to the Tower and see Tony. You know, with my new perspective and all." Also because he had left awkwardly and Tony was probably working himself into a panic about what was going horribly wrong between them already.

Steve smiles brightly at Thor.

"It's quite all right," Thor assures him. "I should speak to Bruce. I wish you well." He pats Steve's shoulder and stands. "Farewell, friend."

"And you too," Steve replies, getting up from their table. He puts down a tip. He's not entirely sure it's the right amount, but tips are one of the terrifying things he can't seem to adjust to now.

Thor watches what Steve does and reminds himself to remember it next time. He always forgets tips. Still thinking about this, he gives Steve an expansive wave and leaves.

Steve walks off in the other direction. He reminds himself, _You're doing something that's right._

He believes it.


	13. tony and bruce do all right with friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony needs more friends who let him talk around things until he leaves. Instead, he just has these friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: none!

Bruce has Thor over for dinner again. This is happening most of the time, now. Bruce is kind of wondering, first, whether at some point he should suggest Thor just move in, and also wondering whether Thor actually has a place to sleep that is not Bruce's apartment (and, if not, whether that means he should ask Thor to move in _sooner)._

Instead he asks, "What did you do today?" which is banal, and pokes helplessly at the thing that is supposed to be an omelet. Cooking is not one of his strong suits.

Thor was wondering how to convey his rather strange conversation (conversations) with Steve, and this seems a good starting point. He doesn't _think_ it will ruin the pleasant domesticity of the evening.

"I had coffee with Steve," he says.

"Yeah?" Bruce says. The omelet sizzles and a raw part that he is sure had been cooked before oozes out the side and ruins everything. "That's good." In the sense that everything about Steve Rogers is good. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

"Very much so," Thor says honestly. "We talked about you and Tony." He smiles hopefully.

Bruce is taken aback. "Me and Tony?" he repeats. "Is this like a parent meeting or something? Are we getting detention? Being moved to special Avenger classes?"

Thor isn't entirely sure of the reference, but he knows enough to deny it. "We were simply bonding over our boyfriends," he says quickly, hoping _that's_ all right with everyone.

" _What?"_ says Bruce, at which point the omelet makes a horrible popping sound, but it really can't get any worse.

"Mm," Thor says, eying the omelet with concern. "Apparently Steve and Tony are involved. Now. As I thought. We were discussing how alike you and Tony are, and how you should get along."

Bruce stares at Thor for a minute while the omelet threatens to immolate itself on the range. "I don't know what part of that I should be offended by most. Or first."

"Oh," Thor says, a little deflated. "Er, your choice. But I was simply trying to...It was pleasant." He nearly says _We should all be friends._

Bruce moves the frying pan a little nastily off the hot burner and onto a cold one. He crosses his arms. "All right," he says. "How exactly am I like Tony Stark?"

Thor thinks very, very carefully before speaking. "You're both very intelligent," he says after a moment. " And you both get your feelings hurt and don't always know how to stop people from doing it. And you're both very...conflicted."

"Does he get his feelings hurt?" Bruce says, with more obvious unpleasant sweetness than he'd planned on.

"Yes," Thor says hastily. "And, er, apparently I hurt them quite badly. I didn't mean to, I only meant to lecture him, but...Steve said Tony wasn't doing well at all. I don't think he _likes_ fighting with us."

"With me, you mean. He gets along fine with you as long as I'm not involved." Bruce isn't angry, though; he's thinking that getting in fights you don't want a part of is something he can very much understand.

"I involved myself," Thor says firmly. "I object to how he acts sometimes. It was my own battle as much as yours." Not quite true, but by the end of it, he was angry enough to count it. "But that's not the point. He point is, he didn't mean it, and he's sorry."

Bruce sighs. "It was much easier to not get along with people before you showed up with your flowers," he says. Then he has to look very closely at the eggs, which aren't sentimental or adorable at all.

Thor is mostly sure it's a compliment. "My thanks," he says gently. "I hope my meddling has improved matters. It seems to have done so with Steve."

"Yeah," Bruce says. "Yes, okay, I'll be nice to Tony at least until he says something vile again. But, are you--are Steve and Tony really _dating?"_

Thor shrugs. "I think so, yes. I suggested to Steve that they were, but it appears I was wrong. But when we next spoke, that had changed." He offers his biggest, brightest smile.

Bruce shakes his head slowly. "This must be some kind of god power," he says.

"One that never worked in Asgard," Thor says cheerfully. "But here, I've been at least some help. I hope Tony's all right. Steve made him sound very unhappy. I hope you're all right, too," he adds.

"I'm all right," Bruce concedes. "It wasn't even--he's a spoiled kid, and he knows it, and he doesn't care. It just makes me..." Angry? No. "Jealous." Maybe too honest. "Anyway I don't want him to be upset too," he says more quickly. "If he was really just picking a fight because he was upset, that's stupid, but I'll forgive him."

Thor is charmed. "You're surprisingly forgiving for someone who's been wronged so many times. More forgiving than I, perhaps. I shouldn't have said what I said to Tony. I gather he was quite upset."

"Yeah," says Bruce furtively. "I. He didn't say anything about what I said to _him_ when you were talking, did he? Tony, I mean?"

"Well, yes," Thor says, feeling much worse about that now that he knows, at least from Steve, that Tony isn't as impervious to verbal harm as he always seems. "Apparently he was distressed by your...angle of attack."

Bruce mumbles something and upends the frying pan over the trash.

Thor nods approval of the destruction of the omelet and says, "I don't know what you said, but he seemed alarmed. I...ignored it. Perhaps I shouldn't have."

"No," Bruce says, hunching a little with the empty, upside-down pan in hand. "He was being loud. I wasn't nice."

Thor regards the table, giving Bruce some privacy to look guilty. "As I said, you can be rather...mean. I find it charming. But perhaps when it's directed at a friend, and with vehemence...Tony has a more fragile ego than it might appear, I fear."

"If we were friends it would have been a different conversation," Bruce says. He shrugs briefly. "He suggested that maybe you and he have talked about...us...in more detail than I'm strictly comfortable with, so I went for his weak points." He looks up guiltily. "I'm actually aware that he's got emotions, you know. Even if he's entitled and obnoxious."

"Oh," Thor says, guiltily, taking in the rest of it but focusing on the important part. "Bruce, I apologize. For speaking to Tony. I just needed advice."

Bruce shifts uncomfortably. "I ruined dinner," he says. "We should probably get takeout."

Thor stands, eager to fix this before it gets worse. "I was afraid," he says honestly. "I...dating is new to me. I didn't want to make a mistake, but in doing so, I _have._ This is my fault."

"No, it's not," Bruce says. "Anyway, he's your friend. You talked. He sent us to that nice restaurant." He winces again. "Which apparently he picked with mortal sensibilities in mind, not yours. Anyway, there's no point picking at who's doing everything wrong. Tony already apologized. I'll apologize back and then we can...avoid each other forever or maybe even have an entire conversation where both of us..." _Aren't too self-involved and anxious to pay attention._ "...try to say nice and interesting things instead of hitting below the belt."

Thor is relieved. Bruce seems to have gotten things worked out, which is good, because Thor is bad at the details.

"Good," he says. "I want our team to all get along. I like all of the people on it very much, truly. I'm glad Tony has finally managed to make Steve see reason."

Bruce smiles, small, and puts the pan in the sink. "I'm not sure seeing reason and seeing Tony are exactly the same thing," he says. "But if it's good, then that's...good."

"Good," Thor says, relieved that no one has, in fact, ruined everything. They're all still friends, or whatever they were before. He'll wait for a while to suggest a double date, though.

"Hey," says Bruce. "You still haven't told me. Where do you _live?"_

Thor laughs, surprised. "I never mentioned, did I? I suppose you've never been. It's a SHIELD-owned facility in the city. Just a few rooms, and very simple, but it's exactly what I need. You can see it if you like." He doesn't spend much time there, because it's actually a little more dreary than what he needs, but they've done well at making him feel at home.

"I could do that," Bruce says dubiously. "It sounds very homey."

"It's very Asgardian," Thor says, which isn't quite the same thing. "They've done well with what little knowledge they had." He frowns and shakes his head. SHIELD unnerves him a little and has since his first encounter with them.

Bruce frowns. "You could just live here, you know," he says. "I mean, I know it's kind of dingy."

Thor is silent for a moment. Then he says, "Really?"

Bruce is very quiet. "Yeah," he says simply.

"Oh," Thor says. "I would like that very much." He stands and goes over to Bruce.

"Yeah?" Bruce asks with a slight nervous smile.

"Yes," Thor says, and he kisses Bruce firmly, reaching up to squeeze his arms. He's grown very fond of his place, and even apart from the pleasure of Bruce asking him to stay, it feels like home.

Bruce manages to get his arms around (at least part of) Thor's waist even though Thor is clinging. He leans against Thor's chest.

"That would be nice," he says. "I...that would be very nice." It would be the first time he didn't live alone since--

For a very long time.

Thor nuzzles Bruce's hair gratefully. This is good. This is what he always rather wistfully imagined relationships should be like.

"Thank you," he says into Bruce's hair, relaxing against Bruce's body.

"You're welcome," Bruce says back, which he means in every sense.

~

Bruce is standing outside the door to Tony's apartments in the Avengers Tower. He has been told by the only good source (Pepper) that home is where Tony will be. Bruce hopes that Tony doesn't look too horrified when he opens the door. Bruce also hopes that he's wearing clothes, and isn't Steve.

Tony bounds over to the door at double speed. JARVIS informed him that someone was here, but not who was here, and maybe that means--yeah, probably Steve. Which is be great, because that might involve more kissing.

Instead, it's the least attractive possibility, aside from a supervillain.

"Oh," Tony says, with the door half open.

 _So much for that,_ thinks Bruce. Tony does look completely horrified.

"Er," says Bruce. "I'm sorry."

"Oh," Tony says, not sure yet if he's relieved or not. "Me too. Wait, sorry for being here, or sorry about before? Do you want to come in, or would you rather stand awkwardly in the doorway?"

"If you want to let me in, I think--in," Bruce says. He can feel himself brooding. He hopes that it doesn't come across as barely-contained revulsion.

"Right," Tony says, stepping back swiftly. _Space,_ he reminds himself, _Give him space._

Bruce eases inside. He gives Tony a tentative smile, before deciding that they're not at the point of smiles yet. "Um," he says again, and looks around for if there's a place he should be sitting.

"Couch?" Tony suggests, a little desperately. "I'll be--elsewhere. Over here. On the stool." He goes to the stool, just to prove it. Oh god.

"Okay," Bruce says, rather than make a fuss about not wanting to cause a fuss. He sits on the couch. He takes a few breaths there, and says, "I'm really sorry for--more or less everything I said the other day. I got overwhelmed. I didn't mean--" _to hurt your feelings_ does not quite come out. "--to be that unpleasant. Or to sic Thor on you. I didn't know he was going to do that."

Tony waves his hands at Bruce ineffectually, but Bruce keeps talking. When he stops, Tony says, "You know I'm the one who should be sorry, right? I mean, not about the Thor thing; that was horrifying. But about the rest of it. You were just defending yourself." He checks. He doesn't think he's said anything awful.

Bruce frowns. "I'm sure that's what you've been...threateningly told by an overwhelming thunder god, but--no. I was mean. And I didn't--I don't hate _you._ I just don't know you. And on the surface, anyway, you..." he trails off, and thinks, _For god's sake, don't stop talking_ there.

"I what?" Tony asks, alarmed. "I know I kind of a lot of things. And I don't mean them. Or mean to be them, or seem them. Well, sometimes. But I don't mean to alienate my friends." _Sometimes._

"Well, your science went wrong," Bruce explains. "And you're responsible for a lot of death. Fair?" He checks to make sure they're currently being honest.

"Uh," Tony says. Then, "Yeah. I've been told." He can't exactly argue. This had better not turn awful. At least it's better than someone faking nice.

"And you've had--a lot of people turn on you, and now you're stuck with the fruits of your labors," Bruce persists, gesturing towards Tony's chest. "And now you're just trying to do the right thing. With this thing you've turned yourself into. Still fair?"

 _Oh,_ Tony thinks. This time he just nods. Having Bruce on the team was maybe a really, really great idea. If only because Tony suddenly feels less like a _lonely_ monster.

"So from the outside," Bruce says carefully, "it might look like if you're talking about Tony Stark, you get some exotic new body upgrade and a sleek new ride and crowds hero-worship you and you can build a high-rise for your pet project if you want to. If you're talking about Bruce Banner, on the other hand, you--spend a lot of time hiding in factories in South America and when your own government stops trying to kill you, you end up working in a crummy lab at a community college and become the only member of the Avengers who's just there so he won't go crazy with left-out feelings and smash everyone."

"Shit," Tony says. "Well. I guess now we _have_ to be friends, because it sounds like your self-esteem is actually lower than mine." He pauses. "What I actually meant to say is, I get why you were mad."

Bruce blinks owlishly and says, a little quicker, "Also it's a pet peeve of mine, people using mental illness as a crutch without actually trying to fix it. Or--or anything actually. I'm not a big crutch fan."

Tony gives a panicked little laugh. "Sometimes if you don't have a crutch you just kind of fall down and lie there until you get hit by a bus, you know?"

"I usually just run fast enough that I don't fall over," Bruce says sadly. He doesn't push the point. He will if they end up being friends.

"Ugh," Tony says, because talking about this stuff honestly is horribly new. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. I won't do it around you anymore. If we're being honest."

"We are," Bruce says. "Anyway, even if I'm not being--angry. If it makes you miserable and you're one of the most powerful men in the world, why _don't_ you just go to a doctor?"

"Because I'm one of the most powerful men in the world," Tony says simply, truthfully, and before his brain can catch up with his mouth.

"Oh," Bruce says after a minute, once he's bitten back the nasty response and sorted through what Tony is actually trying to communicate. "To be fair," he says, "I don't have a psychiatrist either."

Tony gives a little chuckle of relief. That was...not what he was expecting. It's nice. "We could probably all use one," he admits. "If we weren't too screwed up to get them." _Screwed up_ isn't quite why he doesn't have one, but--yeah.

"They're mostly interested in the Hulk," Bruce adds.

"Tell me about it," Tony says, winding his hands around each other until his knuckles pop in protest.

"Tell you about--" Bruce starts in a slight panic, and then, "Oh. I'm a lab rat. You're a tabloid." He smiles. "You're right. We should be friends."

"Oh, god," Tony says. "Yeah, we kind of have to be, don't we? Because otherwise we're just _miserable."_ He stands up and extends a hand. "Yeah?"

Bruce gets up too, kind of with the attitude of someone who doesn't know when to stand in church, and gives Tony's hand a shake.

"I think we do better when we're not lying," he says. "I, uh, I don't promise to never be offended by or angry at you again, though."

"Good," Tony says, "it alarms me when people promise that. They generally don't mean it."

"People generally only promise not to offend _me,"_ Bruce says. He shrugs. "It's kind of upsetting. I'm not really a big fan of violence, actually? No offense, with your weapons company and your superhero team and everything."

"It's Fury's team," Tony says, not-so-secretly pleased that someone's saying the opposite this time. "And I only make friendly weapons now. But point taken. You're pretty much the most actively non-violent person I've ever met." _Most of the time,_ he very politely cuts himself off before saying.

"And thus the crux of my tragic existence," Bruce finishes.

Tony laughs delightedly. "Yeah, I like you. And hey, now we bond over our tall, blond, honorable boyfriends."

Bruce says, "I think they set us up for this."

"Do you think they're smart enough?" Tony asks, fully believing that they are.

"I think they're honorable enough," Bruce says kindly.

"Ew," Tony says. "True. Listen, if it helps at all, that thing I said about Thor talking to me...he didn't really say much. He was just panicking and needed dating advice. Which, hey, I might need at some point. Which would be payback."

Bruce sticks his hands in his pockets. "Thanks," he says. "And anyway, I have a feeling that somehow, sometime soon, he'll know something about your love life I don't need to know, and I'll know it anyway. So, you know. Fair's fair."

"Uh," Tony says. "Yeah. Yes. True. That's...awful." It is. Just awful.

Bruce says, alarmed, "It's not as though I'd tell anyone else. And everyone knows that Thor and Hulk...before we were dating." He grimaces. "Some things are not really--even if I did hear something, Tony, I couldn't judge. And I wouldn't _want_ to. Please stop making that face."

"I know," Tony says quickly. "No, you're good, I know that, I think. It's just, he has no idea about--my life. And he's from the _past._ Fuck, I...I should dump him, right? Can I ask you that, as my new friend?" This isn't a conversation he wants to have, so he's not having it, but he can't stop.

"What are you _talking about?"_ Bruce asks, mystified. He's afraid to sit down again.

Tony runs his hand through his hair. Then he does it again. "Nothing?" he says frantically. Whoops, not a lie he can get away with. "Tabloids?" he tries again. "Steve?"

"I got the Steve part," Bruce says. "I don't read tabloids." He’s too often in them.

Tony sits down heavily on the couch. "That," he says, "is nice to know. At this point. In the conversation."

Bruce cautiously lowers himself back onto the couch. "If we're talking about something you don't want to talk about," he says. "We can stop. We did _just_ decide not to hate one another."

"We should stop," Tony agrees quickly. "Because I really like getting along with my team. It's _great."_

Bruce frowns. "When I said stop, I meant, if it makes you unhappy and isn't any use. I didn't mean that anything you're saying is going to make me take back...um. Friendship."

"You say that now," Tony hedges, although really, he knows Bruce isn't going to hate him. Mostly knows. But here's one more person in the world who _doesn't know._ He shrugs and leans back on the couch, trying to look relaxed. "I just think dating Steve might be a huge mistake."

Bruce says, "You really are a crazy person. Really. Why?"

Tony laughs. "Well, _yeah._ Uh, why? Why is because Steve just got used to the idea of being _gay._ If I--if I tabloid at him, he'll run away."

"Steve can run?" Bruce says incredulously. " _Away?"_

"Well." Tony waves a hand. "Worse, he'll _stay_ and say words about how he's baffled and, and wants to understand, but he doesn't, and, and--shit." Shit, he doesn't want this to be happening. But he'd rather it happened at Bruce.

"Tony," Bruce says, sort of awkwardly, he's aware.

"In Steve's world, I don't think I _exist,"_ Tony says, cryptic only by accident, but vocalizing exactly what he hasn't been able to stop thinking about.

"At this point," Bruce says, "I think I might go insane if you don't say what you're talking about. And you're being...worrying."

Tony needs more friends who let him talk around things until he leaves. Instead, he just has these friends.

"Transsexual," he says.

Bruce frowns, "I don't think I've ever heard anyone use that term before," he says. "You know, instead of transgender. You know, of people who are being pleasant or who know what they're talking about. Which isn't to say you don't--" He looks up abruptly. "Wait. Sorry. I get it. Tabloids."

Tony's laugh borders on hysterical. "Uh," he says, "Yes. Yes, it is. You know, that's not usually where 'I don't think I've heard that term' ends up." He is really, really glad he decided to be friends with Bruce.

"People are uneducated," Bruce says dismissively, of people. "Okay, I understand what you're afraid of with Steve. But he--seems like he works hard to understand the world the way it is now. And he cares about people. I think if you tell him straight out, in--um, in small words--there's a good chance it'll be fine." He shifts in his seat. "I'm saying don't make assumptions and dump him just because he's from the past. You like him, don't you?"

"Yes," Tony says, almost angry that Bruce is being so--so unobjectionable. It just makes him feel stupid. But in a nice way? "Okay. Okay, I'll be calm and not dump him. I know that. I just need to brace myself. Soon. Maybe." He doesn't know how much time he has, actually. Steve is pretty old-fashioned.

"Tony," Bruce says. "You're a crazy person with a horrible past. You're still doing all right. Your insane personality can clearly get you through more than you give it credit for."

Tony tries to remember if anyone has said that about his insane personality before. He thinks maybe the answer is no. "Um," he says, feeling a bit guilty. "I didn't really mean to turn this into Tony Stark Therapy Hour. I mean, thanks."

Bruce raises his eyebrow. "We could talk about how I'm jealous of my own alter ego for being attractive to Thor. Except I really hate talking."

Tony laughs before actually clapping a hand over his mouth. "Sorry. Didn't mean the laughter. I just meant...wow. _Wow._ That's pretty rough. Anything else I ask will just be offensive."

"Probably not," Bruce says, turning a little pink. "Probably just...deeply humiliating."

"Yes," Tony agrees cheerfully, "I hope so, or I'd be doing my job wrong. But hey, you guys are still together, so my guess is that things are working."

"Yes, well," Bruce says, sighing. "Thor likes everyone and I'm nice, so it works all right despite my having a body that literally hates me."

"Yyyeah," Tony says. "Yup." He risks patting Bruce's shoulder quickly.

Bruce smiles at him. "You really terrified me," he admits. "Not just the other day. Generally. I'm glad to be such a poor judge of character."

"I'm glad you're not _just_ sad and bitter," Tony says, hoping that's friendly. "Seriously, I think you're great." New friends are always a little distressing, because _what next, when will it blow up?,_ but so far, this is a good thing.

"Am I not?" Bruce asks to the first part, a little surprised.

"You're not," Tony says with confidence. "You're also really smart and _really nice_ and, uh, you said all the right things, and did I mention smart?"

"I could say the same to you," Bruce says, flustered. "Um."

Tony messes up his hair a few more times. "I'll bet Thor and Steve aren't this _frantic_ when they hang out," he says.

"That is why Thor and Steve aren't dating," Bruce says immediately. "They would have nothing to fix up. Or talk about. They would be really boring."

"Good, I can cross that off my list of things to worry about, then," Tony says firmly.

"Do you really have one of those? You know, I know I lot about meditation," Bruce says.

Tony grins. "I have _lots_ of lists. Mostly in my head. Or all over my lab. Horrifyingly organized, but they make sense of me. So, I think I'm way past meditation."

"Fair," Bruce says with mild emphasis. "Hey, I should--but first of all, are you...are you all right? Are you going to freak out when I leave because of what you told me?"

Tony checks. Checking doesn't always work, because sometimes his most frantic, worried feelings hide and then tumble out later. "I think I'm all right," he says. "Uh, thanks for asking. But yeah, no, you said good stuff, so...so it's fine."

"Good," Bruce says. "Let me know if you were wrong and need me to erase it from my memories or anything." He frowns and gets up. "I think Steve will be all right. If he's not, feel free to put him in my path. I have the calming language of science. He's an experiment. He can respect that."

Tony laughs. "That's a good point. And thanks for that, too. Hey, good luck with the Thor-wrangling. You know, in general."

Bruce smiles. "Thanks. Also for opening the door. And letting me in."

Tony thinks it's probably not helpful to say _I thought you were someone else_ , so he just says, "Any time. I mean it." He's surprised to find that he does.

"Well," says Bruce, looking quiet and pleased, "okay. Good. See you soon, then." He starts to leave and then turns back to pat Tony's arm. It is the awkward pat of a man who doesn't know how to touch people. He turns back towards the door.


	14. steve rogers is transphobic and upsetting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony tries to swallow but can't. He's had this conversation, _this conversation,_ a dozen times, but never with someone he liked quite this much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: transphobia.

It takes Tony about eight hours of cycling through pretty much every feeling in his range before he decides he has to see Steve. He doesn't know when it will become an issue, but he's going to address it _before_ that point for once. It went well enough with Bruce that he's almost hopeful, and besides, he's an adult, he should be able to talk about things.

So he puts on his nicest shirt and goes to Steve's wing of the Tower.

Steve opens the door to Tony in sweaty working-out clothes. He smiles and opens the door wider and says, "Tony, come in. Social visit?"

"Oh, that's intimidating," Tony says very fast and under his breath. "Nice biceps," he says, a little louder. "I mean, yes. Kind of. Not entirely."

Steve shuts the door. "Come on," he says, slapping Tony on the shoulder. "You can have a seat. I'll put something decent on. Do you want something to drink? Tea?" He doesn't emphasize 'tea' in any of the possible unpleasant ways.

"No thanks," Tony says quickly. "I just really need to talk to you." Once he starts talking, he can't ever stop, really. "Look, I haven't been completely honest with you, and I don't know when you were planning on sleeping with me, but I want to address this before that happens, and you probably don't have to worry about changing into something decent, because now I'm talking." He shrugs at Steve, practically vibrating with tension.

Steve has to answer over a sudden buzzing anxiety. He says, "Okay, if that's what you'd like. What's wrong?"

Tony takes a deep breath. "It's just," he says, "none of the people in my life have ever been able to handle all of me. Pepper couldn't handle the fact that I don't take good enough care of myself. Rhodey couldn't handle the fact that I don't take good enough care of other people. Obie couldn't handle the fact that I don't do things for reasons that make sense. And so far, you can handle all of that. But they all knew something about me that you don't."

"What's that?" Steve asks. He swallows down a feeling of dread, and it sticks right between his stomach and esophagus. Horrible. He tries not to look upset. It could be no big deal.

Tony realizes he's going to have to forgo precision if he wants Steve to understand on the first try. He hates doing that, but he's pretty good at painting in broad strokes and filling in the details later. It's what makes him an engineering genius.

"I used to be a woman," he says, and thankfully he manages to mostly swallow a frantic little laugh.

Steve looks Tony up and down, really quickly, unconsciously assessing what Tony's saying before he's actually heard it. Then he hears it, and he's got--nothing.

"I don't know what you mean," he says blankly.

Tony clears his throat. Then he clears it again. "Okay," he says, "so, I don't even know where to _start._ You probably don't know anything about this stuff. But I...yeah, this beard? Thanks to decades of hormone therapy." He's going about it wrong, but he has literally never found a way of going about it right.

Steve says again, more emphatically, _"I don't know what you mean, Tony."_

"Shit," Tony says. His hands are shaking. Smaller words, smaller words, less precision. "Okay. I was born female. I was raised female. My name was Natasha Marie Stark. But, uh, it was wrong. It didn't work." He stalls out.

"Wrong?" Steve repeats, shaking his head. "I don't--why do you look like this, then?" He doesn't believe it. Tony is making some kind of...

Steve doesn't know what Tony is doing.

"Right," Tony says quickly, wishing he were sitting. Except if he were sitting, he couldn't _flee._ "So, medical stuff. Broadly. Surgery. Hormones. A lot of work and a lot of time and, uh, I'm still pretty short." He smiles frantically at Steve. This. Is bad. This is the hard part. This part will end and the easy part will start. Any time now.

Steve shuts his eyes for a few seconds and tries to think about how much he _likes Tony_ , but there's a new, terrible impediment. "Surgery? What kind of—but you don't have breasts," he says in sudden horror.

Tony tries to swallow but can't. He's had this conversation, _this conversation,_ a dozen times, but never with someone he liked quite this much.

"I don't," he says. "I had a double mastectomy when I was nineteen." He's suddenly incredibly aware of his arc reactor shining through his shirt and the way Steve is looking at him. Somehow, they intersect.

"Women..." Steve swallows. "Innocent women endure that because they’re sick. Because they're _dying,"_ He sounds horrified. He is horrified. "You did that because you--you _felt_ like it? That's the most disrespectful... _insane--"_

Tony takes a few inadvertent steps back. "Steve," he says. There's no way to say it that doesn't sound like _please._

"How do you think this is supposed to work, anyway?" Steve asks, not a little frantically. "After I told you I was--I can't believe you let me tell you that, and you're not even..."

He can tell, behind this awful, blown-up feeling, that something bad is happening to Tony--Natasha? Steve can't even say a name. He can't press down his panic, either, the feeling that he almost knew who he was and how he fit, and everything is different from what he expected, and not okay at all.

"Oh, god," Tony says. "Oh, god. Steve, please." He feels ripped apart in a way he hasn't since Obie turned out to be a huge traitor. "You need to let me explain." If he can just find all the right words, he can fix this.

"I need," Steve says dumbly. "Why would you do this to yourself?" He means any of it.

_Don't cry, you fucking idiot, _Tony tells himself, but it's kind of hard. Just the shock. He doesn't know what he expected, though.__

"Uh," he says, "because the alternative was worse? Because I was _wrong_ and I needed to make myself right?" He wants to feel like fighting. That will help.

"I DON'T UNDERSTAND," Steve shouts, "HOW THIS IS _RIGHT."_

Tony backs away more. His face feels numb. "I," he says. He still hasn't found the right words for this. Not for any of it. "I don't know. But I know that I was crazy before and I'm less crazy now. My--my body was a _cage,_ I couldn't do anything I needed to do, and now, now I _can,_ and god, Steve, Jesus Christ, how can you of all people _not know what that's like?"_

Steve says, his voice catching. "I wanted to be stronger, not--" He rubs his hands against his pants legs. "I didn't want to, to _mutilate_ myself."

"Oh," Tony says. He feels like he's been hit. "Um. Okay." He hates losing his words.

Tony's voice gets quieter and Tony gets smaller and Steve thinks, _Oh, no,_ because he knows instantly that no matter what it's about, the thing he just said is unforgivable.

"I," he says. "I'm so sorry, I didn't--"

He can't help it, now there's a mental drumbeat of _girl girl girl girl_ shouting at him while he looks at Tony, and it makes him feel worse for so obviously being mean, and at the same time he understands one thing, which is that it would be a truly unforgivable thing to say so.

"No," Tony says, his voice rough. "No, I'm sorry. Sorry, Steve. I'm sorry. I--I wish you read the tabloids. I wish I hadn't had to..." He doesn't know what to say. This is half of every nightmare he's had since he was seventeen.

Steve feels ill. He takes a step towards Tony and then freezes, unsure if he'd be welcome. Unsure if he wants to get any closer.

"I don't understand anything," he says, voice wobbling. "I should have let you--please, Tony, I think I just did the worst thing in the world. I'm sorry, there's nothing like, if you want to go I'll get out of the way..." He trails off and thinks, _This_ is _the worst thing in the world._ Because he doesn't understand any of it and he knows that whether it's okay or not, he has just been something he never is and never wants to be.

Tony swallows, and shit, _shit,_ he's not going to be able to stop himself from crying. That's not helping anything, but--It's too much. He doesn't know what to say.

"Oh, god," he says. "Please, just let me explain. You're just saying what you know." He wants that to be true, for Steve to give him a chance to look like something other than a liar and a monster. He hopes that's what's happening here.

Steve has made up his mind. He does want to get closer. Regardless of whether Tony is a man or--whatever. He doesn't care. But he can't close the gap without making things worse.

"If you still want to talk to me," he says carefully, and aching with how Tony is pulling away from him. _You made a girl cry,_ his mind accuses him, and that’s not--that’s _wrong,_ he can barely get his head around anything and he’s getting everything so wrong. "I really--oh, god, I'm so sorry. I...how do you still want to talk to me? You can. I'd be, I'd be grateful."

Tony drags a hand over his face, furious with himself for crying. "Damn it," he says angrily. "I'm sorry. I did this wrong. I don't know how to do it right. I, thanks. Thanks for _stopping._ That was...the worst. The worst it's ever been when I told someone. And that's because you _matter."_

Steve feels like he's been punched. Not like he doesn't deserve it, though.

"We could still sit down," he says thickly. "You told me, right? Now you're just--you're just explaining. There could still be tea," he adds, and finds himself closer to the edge of tears than he usually gets. The adrenalin is wearing off and all he hears are his own words. He feels sick with shame and terror that it can't be fixed.

"Tea," Tony says. "Oh, Christ, yes. Tea, and then we can talk." He doesn't think he's even angry at Steve, at least not yet. He's just horrified. And this is probably a bad time to confirm to himself that yeah, those feelings about Steve are love feelings. Were? Are.

"Oh good," Steve says, practically a gasp of relief. "You can--if you want to you can sit down. You can come with me. Whichever you like." He starts off towards the kitchen, though, so he has time to squeeze his eyes shut and bite his lip because this is one of the worst conversations he's ever had in his life.

He doesn't want to try to give it a more specific ranking.

Tony pauses a second and then trails after Steve. He can't stand to be alone with his thoughts right now.

"So," he says quietly, when they're in the kitchen, "I just want to clarify that while I do a lot of things in my life on a whim, this wasn't one of them."

Steve blushes deeply, fiddling with the electric kettle. "Okay," he says. "Ground rule. I believe you."

"Oh, thank god," Tony says. He feels like he can breathe. Not a lot, but enough to go on. "It was bad," he tries again. "Growing up, it was really hard. Uh. Steve, I'm not...I don't know how to talk about my feelings. In a way that's as big as they feel. Just so you know." _Bad_ isn't accurate.

"I went to war once," Steve offers after a moment. "It was bad, too."

Tony clutches the edge of the counter. "I," he says, "Yes." Steve will at least understand him when he speaks this language. "Yeah. Bad. And when I finally figured out _why_ it was bad, I was lucky enough to have the resources to fix it. Some of it. But everyone in America knew my name."

Steve drops two teabags in the pot and turns around. "The--the other name?" he says. "Not Tony?"

Tony nods. "Yeah. And then Tony. Usually in quotation marks. For years. _Years._ Still." This part isn't the entire story, and not really the part Steve needs to know, but it's the biggest part.

"So," says Steve, "it's good we have a ground rule that I believe you."

Tony laughs and runs a hand through his hair. "Yeah. I could have gotten away with this whole thing till you got me naked." He winces.

Steve frowns. "You didn't want to, though," he says. "You wanted me to know. Ahead of time." He peers at Tony. "Just because you thought we might sleep together? Or for other reasons?"

"Because it matters," Tony almost snaps. "Because I didn't want to lie to you. And saying I'm a man isn't a lie, but leaving out that part of my life is. And I want you to know who I am." It's terrifying, but he does. He wants Steve to know even the bad parts.

Steve's shoulders slump, and he sags against the counter. "Oh, Tony," he says, and then runs a hand over his eyes so it's not as obvious.

"I," Tony says, "I don't really know what else to say. I could explain being transgender. I will. I'll even get you articles. But right now I just...Look, there were a lot of tabloids that said a lot of things when I was just a teenager, and you just threw a lot of them at me."

Steve stares at his feet and gives a mute little nod. The kettle is boiling behind him. When it clicks off, he winces.

"But," Tony says shakily. "I know you come from a different time. And I know you weren't trying to hurt me. So there's that." He's never managed to respond to anything like what Steve's said in a reasonable way, so this is kind of nice.

"I just want you to know that I'm--still, uh, still a person and still the same-- _mostly_ the same, and..." He doesn't even know what he wants.

Steve's head jerks up. "Tony!" he says urgently, “ _Of course_ I know you're a person. You're-" He stops and tries to be less emphatic. "You're amazing," he says. "I'm just...scared."

Tony doesn't say anything. Then he moves forward somewhat jerkily and hugs Steve around the waist. A few minutes ago, Steve seemed like a _wall_ of things Tony shouldn't touch. Now, he just seems...well, scared.

"Oh, thank God," Steve says shakily, burying his nose in Tony's hair. He hugs him back, and then thinks, _You don't feel anything_ like _a girl._

"It's okay," Tony mutters, patting Steve's back. "It is. It is. Just, wow, bad, bad start."

Steve sniffs, and squeezes harder. "And I did say," he says, hoping it's acceptable and maybe a little funny and that it will distract Tony from the fact that he is crying with relief, "there were one or two ladies. So. If you are still--equipped in that way. I might do all right. If you ever want to try me." He sniffs again and says, "If they're alive they probably don't remember me well enough to give references, luckily for me."

"Oh, _Steve,"_ Tony says. He wipes his eyes on the back of his hand, but it doesn't matter, because Steve is crying, too. They are standing in the kitchen crying over their thus-far-non-existent sex life. It's...there are worse things.

"I want to try you," Tony says. "After I give you articles. I do."

Steve laughs, a short, watery bark. "I am," he says, "so, so glad to hear it. Also about the articles. I think I need those."

"I thought for a few minutes there that I didn't know you," Tony says quietly. "But I was wrong. I'm really glad I was wrong."

Steve takes the hit, well-deserved and painful, lets go with one arm to smooth back Tony's hair. It’s okay to do that. That has to be okay. "I am going to get things wrong," he says. "But I promise not to do what--what I just did. Not ever again. And I'll...I'll try my damnedest to make it so those minutes aren't what you see when you look at me."

"I think you're doing a pretty good job of that right now," Tony says, and he kisses Steve quickly.

"Oh," says Steve softy. "Oh." He kisses him back, very carefully not letting go.

After a second, Tony pulls away a few inches. "Hey," he says, "tea's getting cold." This has been both the hardest and nicest evening he's had in a while.

"I haven't made it," Steve says. "I should--make it."

Tony squeezes Steve's arms hard before stepping away. "Right, that's a plan." He still feels faintly ill, but he also feels a lot lighter than when he walked in here.

Steve nods mechanically and fills the teapot.

"I have a cozy," he says. "Do you see my tea cozy?"

Tony laughs shakily. "I see it. It's not particularly manly, Steve. Whereas I have a lab full of robots."

"I don't know what you're trying to say," Steve says, going for lofty but ending up pensive and big-eyed. 

"I can't even ask you to forgive me without being selfish and unreasonable," he says quietly. "I really--really wish we could skip the step where I just hurt you."

"I wish we could, too," Tony says honestly. "I really, really do. But I should have seen it coming. It's just not part of your world, and--Look, the thing is, you stopped. You saw that it was hurting me, and you stopped. You fixed it. You weren't being _cruel._ I'm not angry, Steve. I don't need to forgive you."

After a few seconds, during which he silently and vehemently disagrees, Steve nods decisively. "I'm angry," he says. "Because if anybody else hurt you--you know, like Thor--I'd be after them in a second and telling you how stupid they are. But I did it. It was me. So, what I really want is to fix it, but I'll settle for knowing you know how much I--need you to be okay. And, if possible, want you to be okay with _me."_

"Um," Tony says, not quite able to look at Steve, "I don't think you know how much that means. It means a lot." Steve cares, and not because Tony is a _broken machine_ he needs to fix.

"Well," says Steve, " _good."_ He looks around. "We should have tea cups," he says. "We should put tea in them. Somewhere with a comfortable sofa. Would you, um. Tony Stark, would you come have tea with me on my comfortable sofa?"

Tony grins. "I'd love to, Steve."


	15. natasha romanov is not pleased to be a therapist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are you saying," Steve asks slowly, "that I'm--looking at Tony like he's a woman who looks like a man, and really it's, it was, it was always...vice versa?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: none!

Tony has been working on the new model of his suit for three hours straight now, mainly because filling his brain with science is easier than filling it with Steve. They left things okay, but now every time he tries to think about it, it's not really okay. He should maybe find some articles. Instead, he's doing calculations and looking up paint colors.

Natasha, as in Black Widow but not ghost of Tony's past, places herself in the doorway. "Tony, Fury has asked me a question about our encounter with Vanko. You should get out of this contraption and remind me of a detail."

"Huh?" Tony says. It takes him about five seconds to focus on Natasha, which is probably a sign that he was too deep in his work in the way that really worries Pepper.

"Detail," he says blankly. Vanko. Right. He gets out of the contraption.

Natasha shrugs. "It is a large detail. He wanted to know, how much of Vanko's plan came from the schematics he made with your father and how much did he alter based on your--very common television appearances? If you know this."

"Television appearances, ha," Tony says, feeling stupid and robotic. "Oh, yeah. Right. I wish people wouldn't make a career of using my tech against me." He really wishes Natasha would go away and let him think about machines. "Could you go away?" he says. Then he realizes he didn't even answer the question.

Natasha frowns. "Tony, I think there is something the matter with you. Why are you not thinking correctly?"

"Oh, god," Tony says, taken aback. He hates it when his head is transparent. "Nothing's the matter. Just a little too much--tea."

Natasha says, "In Russia, tea only does this to you if you have first made it with vodka. In America, I believe it is the same."

Tony sighs. "What about if you make it with Steve and horrible things?" He doesn't really want to talk to Natasha, but he also doesn't know how much more he can refine this suit design. It's going badly.

Natasha says, "I believe Steve does not usually happen with horrible things. He does also, however, keep forgetting that America and Russia did not spend the last seventy years in friendship and love, which is an unusual position, so perhaps I have a bias."

Tony chuckles. "Oh, god. That's another thing we have to catch him up on. Because he's from the past. Where they don't know about things." Okay, now he just feels ill again. He probably looks it, too, or at least pale.

Natasha says, "Tony, I do not mean to be unhelpfully blunt, but this face is not the face of putting on a suit and destroying evil. What stupid thing did Steve do?"

Tony really, really likes Natasha, which makes talking to her hard. He hasn't found a way to piss her off yet, at least not in ways that matter, which is unnerving. "I kind of came out to him," he says. He doesn't really mean to, but he's so tired and unhappy and frustrated that it doesn't matter.

"Ah!" says Natasha. "You have the body of a woman, he is--very clearly a gay man from the nineteen-forties. I see many problems."

Tony chokes on a laugh. "I, oh god. I wish you could have explained that to—well, both of us. That might have been faster. Instead, I came out by saying all the wrong things and he...It was bad. We're okay now, but it was bad."

"It was bad?" Natasha says. "You frightened him, he frightened you?"

Tony looks at the ceiling. "We made each other _cry._ We just didn't know what to say, and I'm pretty sure he told me I was _mutilating_ myself, but I couldn't pay attention over how badly I was panicking." He smiles brightly. "But then he made me tea."

"Echhh," says Natasha. "Lovers are stupider than most other people.”

"That's fair," Tony says, although he sometimes suspects that the Avengers (minus Natasha) are just stupider than most other people.

"I just don't know where to start with this. I can teach him how this works, but I can't exactly get back my macho cred now that he can see the strings." What he means is, _Every time I have the rare chance to surprise someone with this, they never stop looking at me like something I'm not._ Steve looked at him like that. Bruce, to be fair, didn't.

"Bah," says Natasha. "Someone should tell Steve once in a while not to treat people like a lady, whether they are a woman or no."

"Right," Tony says. "Sometimes I forget Steve is an idiot from the forties to _everyone._ So, what the hell do I do?"

"I am your Agony Aunt?" Natasha asks, and then shrugs. "The first question is, what do you want from him? I don't mean--emotional details, no, I do not want those. Is he still your lover?"

Tony couches and picks up a piece of metal to aimlessly play with. "Uh. We kind of haven't gotten to that part. I want him to be. I think he wants to be. I don't know what else."

Natasha says obviously, "If that is the case, he must understand. You have to tell him with actual words what you are thinking, Tony. You might have to say them several times." She frowns, considering. "Have you thought, perhaps he might respond well to pamphlets with...very simple pictures?"

Tony runs a hand through his hair. Yeah, he's thought of that. That's in the plan. "I can do _that,"_ he says. "But I don't know about the other part. I really don't." He can't do that with _anyone._ He doesn't work that way.

Natasha frowns at him. "You do it plenty with me. Very often you are even telling the truth. Ah, well," she goes on before he can answer. "I am very brutal. I could also talk to him, Tony. I suspect he would not mind talking with someone who--it matters less to hurt." She looks him over. "Also I am not such a delicate flower as you."

Tony opens his mouth to object, but--fair. All of it, fair. And it's actually a massive relief to suddenly not be expected to put this back together all on his own. "If you want, I can't stop you," he says. Then, because that kind of thing doesn't work on her, he amends quickly, "I mean, yeah, I'd like that."

Natasha nods. "Very good," she says. "You get back in your contraption. Later we will answer Fury's question, yes? Now I will go have lunch, and then I will find your walking anachronism, and then we will have a talk, and maybe he will be less stupid afterwards. Deal?"

"Deal," Tony says, feeling a little stunned. All things considered, he thinks he'd better find out about Vanko.

"Yes, good," Natasha says, and strides out the door with very little noise.

~

Steve is more uncomfortable than he's been in a very, very long time. For one very substantial thing, every second thought he has is about Tony, smashed together with flashes of _boy, girl, boy?_ and Tony's face when Steve was yelling at him, and Bucky, and how different it would be with--someone who sounded like Tony and felt like...

The other embarrassing thing is that a couple of S.H.I.E.L.D. underlings have apparently been charged with making him _approve a painting of himself._ To be hung up. Where people can see it.

It's not like that never happened in the '40s, but he feels even more like a horrible fake than usual. And it wasn't all that pleasant even then.

"We can change it if you don't like it, Mr. Rogers," one of them is saying.

"No, no," Steve says, feebly waving a hand, but he can't express his desire that the painting be burned immediately without seeming rude.

Natasha, having had a brief and efficient lunch, finds Steve there. He looks panicked and exhausted, which is about how Tony looked. She sighs sharply. All right. She can do this twice in one day.

"Captain," she says. She can't blame him for looking panicked. The painting he's regarding is hideous.

"Natasha," Steve says, caught between hope and fear. "Gentlemen, excuse me, I have something to attend to." No one says that. No one _ever_ says that. Steve thinks maybe people believe it was said _back in the day._ "I'm sure whatever you decide about the painting will be--fine." He hurries towards Natasha hoping that his hunted feeling is not completely obvious.

Natasha smiles, not entirely kindly. "I take it I am not interrupting? You seem to be enjoying yourself." She's not unkind enough to take it any further, though.

Steve shoots a wet-cat look back at the gentlemen and the painting. "I'm truly not," he says, quietly enough that he hopes to God they can't hear him.

She chuckles. "I suspected not. Allow me to steal you, then. Briefly." She hopes it's brief.

"Certainly," Steve says gratefully, and follows her out of the room. He can feel the eyes of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents (administrators) (whatever they are) and the eyes of that awful painting, following _him_ out the door.

Natasha walks briskly beside him until they're out of earshot of anyone else. "We need to discuss a private matter," she says. "Possibly in your quarters. You look awful."

"Thanks," Steve says, slightly less gratefully. "Sure, we can go there." He aims for the bank of elevators and wonders if she is going to give him any hints or just stand silently in the elevator with him. It's the kind of thing she does. It's unnerving.

Steve wonders what other terrible thing is going to end up going through his head today once Natasha is done with him.

Natasha waits quietly in the elevator, but Steve looks so frantic that she finally takes pity on him, just before the doors open.

"I spoke to Tony," she says. "I got the impression you needed someone to speak to you."

Steve has the sensation of life fleeing his body. He says, feeling numb and chilly and as though someone has just passed a guilty verdict on him, "Oh."

Natasha wonders if Tony and Steve are having a contest as to who can be the most pathetic. "Don't look that way," she says sternly. "He's just worried. Not _angry._ Not irreparably damaged, at least not by you."

"Oh, lord," Steve says, rubbing his face with one hand. "All right. Once we're at my quarters, let's talk." He eyes the progress of the elevator by the lights behind the floor numbers. Almost there, whether that's a good thing or a bad one.

Natasha nods and doesn't say anything else. She doesn't know how she became the moderator in their relationship, but she doesn't intend to make a habit of it. But she likes both Tony and Steve enough to want them to pull themselves together.

The elevator stops and they get out, and cross the hall to Steve’s apartment. Steve lets them both in. "I have coffee," he says. "Tea? I--oh, no, I won't lie, I really don't want to exchange pleasantries if this is the conversation we're about to have."

Natasha nods, deeply appreciative of his businesslike manner.

"It's not a lecture," she says. "Unless you require one. Do you require one?"

"I don't know!" Steve snaps, and then is aghast. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to, do you want to sit? I'd like to sit." Babbling isn't his M.O., but Steve is fraught and Tony is catching.

Natasha sits, slowly and carefully in case Steve is going insane. "I am sitting," she says. "In case that makes you more comfortable. Now. What is wrong with you?"

Steve stares at her, slack-jawed. Eventually he remembers to sit, too.

"I," he says. "I--I don't understand. About..." He trails off, realizing that he doesn't know if Natasha (Natasha! That name has never been alarming before.) knows about Tony's...Natasha.

"I suggested pamphlets," Natasha says flatly. "With diagrams. But if that is too much for you..."

"Oh, Lord," Steve says again, but now he's less horrified than he is just _upset._ "I don't know what to do. I don't mean pamphlets!" he interrupts himself hastily. "Although possibly that could, but no, I mean. I mean, I said--I said things to Tony that I--" He swallows. "I can't make any more mistakes like that. I used them all up. And I _don't understand_ anything. There are going to be mistakes."

He leaves out the part about being mind-numbingly afraid of everything about this situation. Including the fear that he can't, in fact, handle it.

Natasha nods. "Tony is not a child, Steve. No matter how well he pretends. If he cannot allow room for error, his wounds are his own fault. But I'm sure you can manage to avoid being _too_ stupid." She realizes what she's going to have to do. "If you like," she says grudgingly, "you can talk these things through with me. Now. Make your mistakes before you make them with him."

"I--" Steve says. He is on the verge of relief except that Natasha is very intimidating. "You see him as a man, don't you?"

"Is this a trick question? How could Tony Stark be anything but a man?" She does not hide the sneer well.

"But he," Steve says in confusion and terror, "but he said, but you know he was--Natasha," he finishes pleadingly, and if she doesn't know, or if Steve is awfully wrong, somehow, at least he could just be saying her name.

Natasha _hates_ that her name has been borrowed by horrible, horrible Tony Stark. It makes for conversations like this.

"Yes," she says, as gently as she is able, "and I'm sure he was no less a man then. You understand?"

Steve feels as though his whole reeling, awful pile of thoughts has just been jerked to a halt.

"Oh," he says. "So I..."

He has to work very hard to articulate this, because he barely understands, if he understands at all.

"Are you saying," Steve asks slowly, "that I'm--looking at Tony like he's a woman who looks like a man, and really it's, it was, it was always...vice versa?"

Natasha's eyebrows go up. "That's clever. You see? You understand." Maybe this won't be so difficult after all. She has her doubts, though.

Steve says hopefully, "I do?" Then he brow wrinkles again, and he says, "But I don't understand how that could happen. I mean, I believe him! I do, if he says it's true, it's true, but how do you _know_ something like that? How do you prove you're the wrong sex? Enough to--to go through all this?"

Natasha shakes her head. "These questions I cannot answer. But I have always known I was a woman. I imagine it was much the same for Tony. In my experience, when one is unhappy, one changes something. And if that something helps, they continue down that path. If not..." If not, one stops being a secret agent for that particular country, her brain fills in.

"Like me," Steve murmurs. He had said it wasn't the same, to Tony. Because he just wanted to improve himself a little, not remake everything into something--unrecognizable. Except that was exactly what he did.

Then it must be something else that's bothering him.

"I don't know if he has a," Steve says abruptly, and then blushes awfully and bites his lip. That is not something he wants to discuss with Natasha. He does not want to discuss that.

She snorts. "Do you think I do?" She does, because she would have seen it in Nick's files if Tony had had any other surgeries.

"N-no, I meant," Steve says, because he must have meant something, he hopes. "I mean I'm--I'm attracted to men," that's hard to say, even though if Natasha didn't know it they wouldn't be having this chat, "and, I like...those...parts. And from...my experience I don't really have very strong feelings about the other...anatomy, and what if I--what if I panic? What if I don't like it?" _What if I wanted_ him _to do the,_ his mind starts, and he stomps on it.

Natasha does not understand why sex is so _difficult_ for some people. "If you panic, you panic," she says. "If you're simply not attracted to his body, you'll find out soon, and that will be that. I suspect you won't have a problem. But you will have no idea until you try."

That isn't a help at all.

"Natasha," he says, maybe with a little too much passion, "I can't say yes to him and then take it back. I can't--be _unsure."_

She nods. He's right. Tony couldn't take it. "All right, I see your point. Then you will have to trust that what he has, whatever it is, is good enough. Chances are, with hormones, he doesn't have quite as female an anatomy as before." She shrugs.

Steve looks at her forlornly. He wonders if this is a situation where crying would help or if Natasha would just sneer at him.

She takes one look at Steve's face and decides to be gentle. "I think, Captain Rogers, that pamphlets may come in handy. It's hard to know for certain, but some transgender men have some...growth. Not much, but enough to make a difference. I just thought I would mention it." She strongly dislikes that this is her life. She just wanted to fight supervillains. Mostly.

Steve buries his face in his hands. "We didn't even have a word," he mumbles, and then looks up quickly. "Not for Tony. And, other people did, I guess, for...But I--I didn't even have a word for what I was. And now there's...there's just so much more. There's so _much._ And people _talk about it._ Like it's all right. Tony might disagree with that, but...compared to then." He shakes his head.

"I know," Natasha says simply. "You have missed much. Not just this. People need to be patient. But you are catching up."

Steve slumps. "Thank you, Natasha." He blinks. "Pamphlets would be great. Mostly I just don't want to hurt anybody."

"Clearly. That's all you ever want." She pats his shoulder firmly. "For a soldier, you are the most nonviolent person I have ever had the misfortune of knowing."

Steve grins ruefully. "I'm sorry you got dragged into our problems," he says. "It's a little sordid. You're very kind."

Natasha is always taken aback by how perceptive Steve is, for someone who can be so slow. "Thank you," she says. No sense pretending she's not doing him a favor. "I want you two to work things out, and if I can help, I will. The team does not need to be brought down by a problem this stupid."

That shakes Steve a little, but he bears up. "Yes, ma'am," he says.

Natasha stands. "Good, then. I will send you some...literature. Then you can ask Tony awkward questions until you feel like having sex." She adds that just to see if she can get him to blush.

He does. "Er," he says, "many thanks."

Natasha hides a laugh and slips out the door, shaking her head at him.

Steve sags into the couch.

"Phew," he says. He doesn't really feel like "phew," not yet, but it's...closer. He just needs Tony to look him in the eye and be rambling and obnoxious and smart for a while. It will be okay then, probably. Then it will be okay.


	16. being from the past is not all about tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony exhales. He...wasn't thinking about Steve as actually being from the forties, he realizes. Not in the right way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: internalized homophobia

Steve is keenly aware that the only times he's spoken to Tony in the last two days were once via email (which he still finds confusing) to say _don't worry, please let me know when you want me around, Natasha is giving me things to read_ and once very, very briefly after this morning's Avengers briefing, after which he'd had someone to fight and Tony'd had somewhere...else to be.

He's _very_ keenly aware of this, waiting for Tony to answer his door.

Tony really, really doesn't want to answer the door. What if it's Steve? What if it's Steve, here to say that everything is ruined and they're too _awkward_ to even be on the same team anymore? What if it's not Steve, because Steve has decided to avoid him forever? Both seem likely, giving how the past few days have gone.

He paces in a few more tight circles, messing his hair up even more, before striding over and yanking the door open.

"Oh!" says Steve, which is ridiculous, of course, because he'd assumed that Tony might eventually open his own door. "Hi. I." He's trying to look cheerful and capable and he just doesn't have the courage. He digs one of Natasha's pamphlets out of his back pocket and holds it up like an offering. He says plaintively, "I tried to read them and it didn’t help at all. Can I please just talk to you about--about _you?"_

Tony laughs, which is a relief, because he thought maybe he'd just scream instead. 

"Oh, god," he says. "I'm really sorry about the pamphlets. Come in, okay? Sit. Have some tea." He smirks. Steve blushes and hesitates his way through the door, but he doesn't sit. 

"Natasha said you, um, sent her," he says. "I think it helped? I mean, for me to get--to get things right. I mean, I hope. She seemed to think I was getting less stupid as we went along."

Tony is mildly alarmed. "Oh yeah? I guess I'll have to trust her on that one." He thinks he does. "She probably gets it right more often than I do, actually. I'm really, really bad at saying what I mean. But I'm working on it! New project." He sits down to show Steve it's okay.

Steve follows suit. He wants to say something as soon as possible, but also wants not to start off this conversation with more apologies. He thinks that might just scare Tony off.

He'd known before that Tony could be afraid, but he'd never imagined him that _frightened_. It makes Steve want to treat him more gingerly, except that if he does, Tony will think Steve is treating him like a girl.

Steve says, not apologizing, "I'm still scared. And I'm here anyway. Okay?"

"That's--" _Huge,_ Tony wants to say, _bigger than what anyone else I've wanted to be with has given me,_ but he can't. Instead, he says gingerly. "I appreciate it. And I'm going to try really hard to make this not become a giant, stupid roadblock, okay?" God, he hopes.

Steve understands perfectly well that if Tony's--differences become a giant, stupid roadblock, it'll _him,_ Steve, who's turning them into one. He has to bite his tongue to keep from promising anything. He wants to give Tony...everything. But he can't risk it, not yet.

"You shouldn't have to try all that hard," Steve says. "No more than anybody else in a relationship. But if you're already trying, maybe you could, um." He peers over at Tony and wills his blush to disappear. "Maybe you could go on a date with me. If there's anywhere you can escape the press, that is."

That's...not what Tony was expecting. Steve never is.

"Uh, yeah," he says. "I have a list of places." Any place Steve wouldn't feel wildly uncomfortable is a place the press won't expect Tony, anyway.

"I mean," he adds, "that I am pretty excited that you still want this to be a relationship."

"Tony, I liked you already," Steve says, a little ragged. "I didn't _stop._ I just--I'm terrified that when push comes to shove I won't be good enough to handle it, and I want to be reminded right away of all the reasons you're fine exactly how you are. In case that helps."

He pauses. "I'm sorry if that was the wrong thing to say, I really don't know the--the rules."

Tony swallows and tries blindly for complete honesty. "There've never been rules," he says tightly. "Not with me. Not with the media breathing down my neck and Obie saying all the right things _wrong_ and--Not one has ever tried this hard to get it right. I don't know what right _sounds_ like. So, really, you're _fine."_

"Oh, Lord," Steve says. It doesn't make him feel any better about himself, but it does make him want to reach into the past and strangle Obadiah Stane. "Could I--are you up for a, a hug, maybe?" He looks at Tony hopefully.

Tony realizes that he hasn't been allowing himself physical contact with Steve, or really anyone, in _days._ That's probably half of why he's so miserable.

"Uh, _yes,"_ he says, and he practically flings himself on Steve.

Steve struggles them both upright from the couch so he can hug back properly. When it's clear that Tony doesn't turn out to find Steve's mere touch repellent, Steve slides his hand up Tony's arm and cups his cheek and lifts his face to ask, with a raised eyebrow, if it's okay to kiss him.

"Oh, yeah, kissing, always good," Tony mutters under his breath, and hey, he has his words back. Not too many, but just the right amount. He kisses Steve hard, pressing against him and hopefully conveying the message that _things are okay._

Steve moans, small and surprised, into Tony's mouth, pushed backwards the inch it takes for the back of his knees to hit the couch. He wobbles a little, keeps his balance, but wonders if tiny Tony Stark is about to...push him down.

It wouldn't _exactly_ be the first time something like that happened.

Tony grins at Steve and shoves him down on the couch. He didn't really mean for a reassuring kiss to turn into...reassuring pushing, but he's glad it did. Talking with his hands sometimes makes way more sense than talking with his mouth.

He leans down and kisses Steve again.

"Is it--how much is okay?" Steve gasps. "I don't know if. But." He panics, in case Tony stops and gets upset (Steve doesn't want either of those things) and drags Tony closer, kissing him hard and touching his face and his neck. He starts to touch his chest, too, except he gets scared, midway through trying, that that's _not_ okay. For someone. He doesn't know which.

Stick to a little further up.

Tony's breath catches in his throat, because he knows this horrible, awkward dance by heart. And he only has one defense. "Well, watch the reactor plate, it's a little sensitive," he says. Not helpful, _not helpful,_ Steve wants real advice.

Steve says, "Oh, right," in a voice of actual enlightenment, because in the midst of remembering that Tony isn't built entirely like a man, he sort of forgot this one particular aspect of how that is true.

Tony laughs, only a little panicked, and kisses Steve again. "Mm. Yeah. It was a joke, but...technically true. Everything else in that area is numb in places, though." Oh, he's making himself sound sexy and exciting. "But you can put your hands there. I'm not...fragile." He's not sure if that's true. People don't usually assume that he _is._

"Me either," Steve says abruptly, and then swallows, embarrassed. "I mean you can--you can stay in charge. If that helps. I don't have to...you can tell me where to..."

This is a little too much detail. He gives up right at the important part, of course, but he is just giving himself enough of a break that he doesn't make a run for it. He _doesn't want to run away._

"Huh," Tony says brightly, "I don't get to be in charge a lot." True, but he's willing to give Steve all the help he needs. "How about putting your hands on my waist?" he says. "Just that, for now. It's okay." He runs his hand through Steve's hair, messing it up.

It's so gentle that Steve's breath catches, and before he can stop it he's looking Tony in the eye, and his expression is (he can feel it, it _is)_ twisting into something awful, painful, and terrified. His palm brushes Tony's side and he _likes it._ He's just scared out of his mind.

Tony doesn't want anyone to look at him like that, mostly because it looks like he's _hurting_ Steve. Tony makes a decision.

"Hey," he says. He grabs Steve's hand and presses it to his chest, right over the edge of the arc reactor, right over the edge of one of his other scars where it lies hidden under the fabric.

Steve shivers, and swallows, and blinks, and says, "I don't think you're what's wrong with me."

"Well," Tony says, "that's an incredibly depressing comfort." But oh, good, good, _this_ is something Tony can handle. "For what it's worth," he adds carefully, "I don't think there's anything wrong with you. I mean, deeply and unfixably. But what _feels_ wrong?"

"I don't know," Steve says. He can't catch his breath. He wants to...to be held, and he wants to get away at the same time. "I don't know. I'm just--"

It used to scare him when Bucky wanted words for what they were doing. Or worse, when he gave it words that Steve couldn't stop. Steve didn't want any. If they named it, it was more _wrong._

"Hold on," Tony says, pulling back a little, but leaving his hand on Steve's shoulder. "We are taking this _slow,_ right? Because this is possibly incredibly new for you? I mean, I don't even know how much you've dated." Clearly at least a little, but that might not apply at all anymore. The past was a long time ago, and Tony is...not like other people Steve has probably dated.

"It wasn't dating," Steve says.

"Right," Tony says. Then he clears his throat and adds, "If you want, you can tell me about what it was. That might...help." He doesn't even know how long Steve has known he was gay.

Steve laughs, which is a pretty awful sound. "Not right now," he says. "Maybe sometime." He drops his head. "But I--I mean, I've done _this_ before. Well, not this exactly, because, well." He halts in his tracks and looks anxious. "But--but with men," he says. "I've been with other men. But I, I said before, right, that we just," but that's a lie, he was the only coward between the two of them, " _I_ just pretended it was the stress of the war and, how close you got to your pals when they fought next to you, and...there wasn't a name. For anything."

He looks at Tony, pleading. "I always pretended it was because we didn't have anything else. I pretended it--it wasn't anything strange about _me."_

Tony exhales. He...wasn't thinking about Steve as actually being from the forties, he realizes. Not in the right way.

"I'm really, really sorry," he says after a second. "You're--well, you're a gay man who can't even _think_...Look, we are going to take this _so slowly,_ you got me?" He grabs Steve's chin and looks him in the eye, just to make sure Steve understands. "We need to go on a date. Somewhere with very few people. To start with."

"Could we do that?" Steve asks, and he knows he sounds pathetic, grateful and disbelieving and _stupid,_ because it's not that strange here, but he just can't--

"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm sorry I don't understand anything and I'm making things hard for you."

"Oh, god, hey, don't," Tony says, suddenly feeling like the world's biggest _idiot._ How could he have missed this? No, he knows how. "It's okay. It's not hard, it's--well, not exactly normal, because our lives really aren't normal, but this isn't...it's _fine._ I promise it's fine." He squeezes Steve's shoulder.

Steve reaches up and grabs Tony's hand where it's resting, clutching it convulsively.

"Thor said," he starts, and then feels worse because everything he says is like pointing fingers, and between Thor and Natasha, he's obviously spreading their private lives around to everyone, "Thor said he doesn't think it's wrong, to be...gay. I'm trying to--Tony, do you think he's right?"

"God," Tony says, more a breath than a word. He should have slowed down. He should have slowed _way_ down. He didn't get what it meant when Steve said--well, everything he said.

"I think it's okay," he says. Simple, firm. "I _know_ it's okay," he clarifies.

"Really?" Steve says, and then winces. "Lord, I sound like I'm saying you're a bad person. You and--half of everyone we know, I guess." That's a foreign, disorienting thought. He doesn't know if it's more painful to be some sort of outcast deviant, or to be part of a crowd he even didn't know about. Popular isn't always right, on the one hand, and on the other...if it's okay, he's been grieving for years over _nothing._

"Hey," Tony says sharply, "I've been called a bad person a thousand times. I know what it sounds like, and that's not what you're doing. You're just _scared._ I don't know what any of this is like in your time period, but I do know I was raised thinking it was pretty wrong, too. So I'm...familiar. Just so you know."

He's not the best at understanding people who're coming from somewhere different--understatement of a lifetime--but he's sure going to try with Steve.

"Okay," Steve says. "Okay." To what? He's really just trying to calm himself down. He doesn't know what to agree to, or what he agrees with.

"I wouldn't want to stop even if it _was_ wrong," he finally mutters, cotton-mouthed, eyes burning. His hand slips off of Tony's and knits itself in Tony's shirt.

Tony didn't know Steve _could_ look like this. It's both alarming and, for future reference, comforting.

"That's...good," he decides. "Because there are plenty of people who still think it is, and trust me, they'll try to make you think so, too, if you give them a chance. So, uh, that was meant to be comforting. It's just good to have strong convictions to start with, I guess. But it's probably worth something that half the Earth's mightiest heroes are, you know, pretty gay."

Steve laughs, startled. He says, "I don't think most people would have seen that as a sign of valour, where I come from. But it helps."

Tony grins, glad that Steve is looking a little less woeful. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not exactly coming out to the press. Again. But yeah, we're good."

"Lord," Steve says again. "Listen, Tony, could you just--pretend I haven't been crying on your couch, for a minute, and maybe...kiss me again? Just, real quick."

"That's something I can easily do," Tony says, but he's not really listening to himself anymore. He leans in and kisses Steve.

Steve relaxes under him and kisses back. His hand creeps upwards, and this time it rests lightly on Tony's chest. "Does that hurt?" he asks. It's hard to catch a breath.

Tony shakes his head. "You're good," he says against Steve's mouth. "Don't worry, you're not going to hurt me." Steve's seen him fight supervillains; he can't worry about this. But Tony does get it.

"You're not going to hurt anything," he adds.

Steve breaks the kiss and leans into the curve of Tony's shoulder. He feels Tony's breath, hot and damp against the back of his neck. He's warmed by the heat of Tony's skin. He digs his fingers lightly into Tony's ribs. He wants to have something to say but there's nothing he can reach.

"You're okay," Tony mutters. He expected to feel helpless, but he just feels like it's _true._ So, okay, this is what taking care of a person feels like. He'll have to thank Steve for that someday. Just now, he just wants them to keep holding onto each other.


	17. loki is determined to make bruce mad, too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a liar, Bruce thinks, Loki says a lot of true things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Loki is so crazy. Warning forever.

The person Loki is looking for doesn't look like much. He is standing obliviously amidst library bookshelves, reading too deeply into something to pay attention to anyone who happens to be staring at him without any disguise.

Well. Loki has a disguise. But there's no disguising the staring.

The mortal doesn't look up as Loki insinuates a hand between his face and the shelf, to pull down a book Loki doesn't care about either way.

"I thought Thor liked his dates to be at least a little cleverer than he is," Loki says pleasantly.

Bruce jerks around violently. He didn't even realize anyone else was nearby, and he reacts badly to surprises. This surprise is his least favorite kind--personal questions out of the blue from alarming sources.

"What?" he says stupidly, unnerved. This day has taken a sudden turn for the worse.

"I said," Loki repeats, remembering that most people blink and that he should blink, "you don't seem all that bright to me, Dr. Banner." He considers. _"Bruce."_

Bruce is caught somewhere between fear and the small stirrings of anger, and he chooses the former. It seems safer.

"That's my _personal life,"_ he says a little irrelevantly. He just wants out. He starts backing away, fingers tightening on the book in his hand.

Loki takes a step forward. "What do you like about him?" he asks, smiling. "Does he know you'll die young for him no matter how long it takes him to get bored of you?"

Bruce swallows, finding it _very_ hard to force the anger down now. "What the hell makes you think it's any of your business?" he snaps, but it's more mumbling than snapping.

"What can you do about it if it's not?" Loki asks.

There are not a lot of things Bruce can feel that are worse than _trapped._ He takes a deep breath that hitches halfway through.

"You're pretty desperate to get under my skin," he says, fingers digging into the palm that's not holding the book.

Loki laughs and leans back. "I only wish to weigh your worth. Though I wouldn't care if you did lose your temper." He looks around the room. The library is not very quiet; it's a Saturday afternoon, and crowded. "You would grieve for every mortal you killed. And I wouldn't remember to count."

For a liar, Bruce thinks, Loki says a lot of true things. He swallows again, realizing that he probably doesn't have enough control to stop Loki from pushing him until he snaps. He needs to get out of here.

"Thor told me about you," he says, to buy time.

Loki's eyes narrow. "Did he?" he says, voice low and hissing. "Or are you just hazarding a guess at who I am, and lying through your pretty teeth?"

"I'm not stupid," Bruce says evenly, although he feels anything but calm. "How many people Thor knows have it in for me this badly?" He really wishes he were wrong, but his life does not generally work that way.

Loki raises his eyebrows. "In for you?" he asks. "I don't care about _you._ As for how many, perhaps you should inquire in other realms than Midgard. Thor has many enemies. He earns them."

Oh, Bruce has to stop being angry; he has to stop _now._ "Thor's never anything but nice," he says. Not true, but Thor has completely good intentions, at least in his experience. "You're clearly just jealous."

Probably not a thing he should have said out loud, but it was true, and obvious, so he did.

Loki laughs. There are spikes in it. "Jealous of what? You? Him? _This?_ I have experienced enough of this realm for myself, thanks, and I want neither mortals nor their sickening attentions."

"Jealous that he's paying attention to someone else," Bruce says, all in a mumbled rush. He hefts the book in his hand, wondering if hitting Loki would improve things. Almost certainly not.

"He could die for good for all I care," Loki hisses.

Bruce thinks about how much that would hurt Thor to hear. Then he thinks about how it's clearly a lie.

"He's doing pretty well, actually," he says. "Not near death. Happy, in fact." Why is he needling a _god?_ Probably the same weird, petty jealousy that brought Loki here.

There's a flash in Loki's eyes. "Of course he is," Loki says, his voice a not entirely attractive growl. "When does dear Thor ever get anything less than exactly what he wants?"

 _All the time,_ Bruce thinks. Instead he says, "I don't know, I think if he got what he wanted, you wouldn't be here doing this." Oh, no, he should have clarified that.

Loki smiles very sweetly, no teeth involved. "Thor never liked to share his toys," he says, and without looking, he slams the side of his fist against the bookcase in a burst of cold white sparks. There is a horrible avalanche of fluttering paper and heavy books, hurtling to the floor like rocks. People begin shouting.

"Oh, no," Bruce says, but that isn't really helpful. " _Don't."_ But Loki has, and Bruce can feel himself panicking. He doesn't want a fight, here or anywhere else. "I just meant, uh, he worries about you." He doesn't want to comfort Loki. He also doesn't want anyone to die.

Loki takes a relentless step towards him. "Thor is just a boy who wants everything," he says. "He doesn't want me any more than he wants you. Which is not as much as you think it is." His eyes light. "And even if it is--you cannot get very attached to a cut flower. It wilts. It rots. And you just cut another one when the old one dies."

Bruce doesn't want to think about that. He's been very carefully not _talking_ about that since he and Thor--since it started. It's just not a topic he wants to consider. But Loki has noticed.

He means for a lot of things to come out of his mouth, but what does come out is, "Who was before me?" He winces. It's a question for Thor, not this madman in the library.

"I don't know if you want a name or a list," Loki purrs. "But, you know, Thor was not always such a good boy, even before he ran away from home. He liked to have his fun, and he didn't like consequences." He smiles more widely. "You and me, do you think there's a resemblance?"

 _No,_ Bruce thinks violently, _I don't._ But he can't say it. He can't say anything certain and faithful. He doesn't, despite everything, know much of Thor's life at all.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he manages weakly, looking around for a way out, or at least a way to make it look like he's not affiliated with Loki to all the other people in the library.

It's a little late for that. Loki is bearing down on him with lightning in his fingers, and the other patrons in the library are edging out of the room. They live in New York. They know when to leave.

"I know I said you weren't bright," Loki says, eyes glittering, "but _that's_ simply playing on my credulity. If you don't want to be a god's whore, you stupid mortal, don't let a god fuck you."

"Oh," Bruce says. He can't back up any further, and he feels tiny, which, he supposes, is still better than the alternative.

"That's not--" he starts, but he isn't certain enough to finish. He _doesn't know._ He's not sure if that's insecurity or the fact that he truly can't tell who Thor is and, almost as importantly, has been.

 _"That is,"_ Loki tells him, and then seizes his wrist in a handful of immortal muscle and magic and cold fire, long enough to see if it will take.

Bruce makes a strangled noise and tries to pull away, starting to panic, which is _very bad._ At least the library is nearly empty now. His wrist burns like nothing he's ever felt, and he can feel a towering rage building inside him, dulled by sheer force of will.

Loki watches the mortal struggle and gasp, he sees the change behind his eyes, and it still _won't come._ His doggedness is enraging.

"You put so much effort into this," Loki spits. "What's wrong? Afraid Thor will kill you as cavalierly as he's killed so many other monsters?"

Because Bruce is barely holding onto himself, he doesn't say any of the things he could about how it's different. Instead he says, "He didn't kill you."

Loki shrieks, and flings his whole body forward to hurl Bruce against the wall in a flurry of ice and power. Bruce hunches in on himself as best he can, chanting _stupid, stupid_ in his head. He's going to die now and then Thor really _will_ kill Loki.

"Thor is nothing but selfish!" Loki is howling at him. "His conscience is limited to his own comfort! If he hasn't killed me it is for his sake! If he hasn't killed you it is because someone told him you had a name! Otherwise you would be long dead as he laughed past your corpse in victory."

Bruce _knows_ these words aren't true, and he's almost ( _almost_ ) certain they never were, but he's more concerned with getting out. He needs not to say anything else upsetting.

"I'll discuss it with him," he says ineffectually. That's true, at least.

Loki crouches over him. "You don't believe me," he sneers. "Do you know how many of the Jotun he murdered, laughing, to be sent to this place? Dozens. And it was a game." He smiles bitterly. "He hasn't killed me only because I look like this and once called him brother."

That, Bruce can almost believe, but only because he's very alarmed.

"All right," he says quickly. "You win, all right?"

Loki's smile slips and falls. He says, voice shaking more like he's mad than like he's angry, "I don't _win."_ He stands up quickly, and backs away. "Neither will you." He rubs his hands against his sides. "Neither will Thor. There are some things he wants, at least, that he will not have."

He steps back around the edge of the bookcase, and isn't there anymore.

Bruce tries to unhunch and is only partly successful. He's shaken and guilty and worried, which--all right, isn't so unusual, but he can probably actually do something about some of it. He really, really doesn't want to ask Thor some of these questions. He also has to, or he'll just feel worse. He takes a deep breath and decides to leave before the police show up.


	18. loki makes bruce and thor have a fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor is upset and embarrassed and annoyed and then Bruce says the last thing, and all he feels is guilty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: none

Bruce can't tell if Thor is home when he slips in. The kitchen light is on (alarming) but Thor has been known to forget to turn lights out when he leaves. (He's always very earnestly apologetic, but it makes it harder to detect his presence.) Bruce starts purposefully towards the bathroom and hopes that if Thor is here, and sees him, he won't try to make him stop.

Thor has been in bedroom, going through Bruce's collection of books. Most of them are things that neither he nor, he suspects, most people, would have much of an interest in, but he still likes knowing what Bruce reads. He hears the door open (it makes a useful creaking sound) and rolls off the bed, book in hand, to go and see if Bruce is back.

Bruce _is_ back, although he doesn't look in the mood for a hug hello when Thor comes out of the bedroom.

Bruce gives a perfunctory, "Hi," and then slams the bathroom door in Thor's face. Rude, but maybe it'll put him off for a few minutes. He locks the door behind himself and flicks on the light, and then has to pause, his hands against the tiles on the wall behind him, and take more than one deep breath.

He pushes up his sleeve gingerly, because he's more cautious about injury than he is a coward about what he'll see.

When he does see, though, his heart quakes a little.

 _Stupid puny Bruce,_ Hulk rumbles angrily inside him. _Could have stopped that. Should have let me OUT._

Bruce, heart pounding, tries to ignore him. Instead he stares ponderingly at the harsh, mottled blue stain of his skin where Loki's hand had been. When he touches it, his wrist is slightly--slow to give. _Like defrosting chicken,_ Bruce thinks unpleasantly. And it _hurts. _Bruce stops breathing involuntarily for several seconds, it hurts so badly, and for a while stars crowd out his vision.__

This is not going to be possible to explain in a way that won't be trouble. And he's not exactly sure what magical frostbite from a Jotun will _do_ to him.

Thor frowns at the door. Bruce is angry--no, probably upset, he corrects himself--and not at Thor. If Tony has done something else...But no. He would know better, Thor thinks.

"Bruce?" he calls after a long moment.

Bruce bites his lips between his teeth. _Don't be stupid,_ he suggests to himself, which doesn't enlighten him with any specifics.

"Yeah?" he calls back. His voice is a little too high. He shouldn't have let his voice be that high.

"What's wrong?" Thor says, a little more softly and closer to the door. He doesn't like the way Bruce sounds. It...frightens him, he realizes. He's not protecting Bruce very well if he's here reading and Bruce goes out and gets hurt.

 _That's direct,_ Bruce thinks. Bruce isn't sure how to answer that. Bruce sincerely does not _want_ to answer that.

If he could bargain with the Hulk into taking over _now,_ he thinks hopefully, maybe that would fix him up. Hulk could distract Thor by being attractive and green, and he would forget to ask Bruce why he was cranky, and they could just forget about Loki until the next time he showed up.

That is a good plan.

Bruce sighs and pushes his sleeve down gingerly and unlocks the bathroom door. He opens it to Thor's worried face. "Well, there was--something," he says.

Bruce looks awful. Thor frowns. "What _is_ it?" he asks, really worried now. He goes to Bruce and puts his hand on his shoulder.

Bruce shudders before he knows it's coming. He'd only been jostled once or twice getting home from the library. He'd had no _idea_ it would hurt over such a wide radius, from such a gentle touch.

"Um," he gasps, a little green.

Thor pulls his hand back. This isn't Bruce being afraid of touch, this is Bruce being _wounded._ Thor's seen enough battle to know the difference.

"Bruce," he says, voice low and angry. "Who hurt you? I will _kill_ them."

"Oh," says Bruce. "I hope not." He makes some horrible, toothy, apologetic face, and then pushes back his sleeve.

Thor freezes. His brain immediately says _Jotun. But how could they--?_ before he realizes who must have done it. He forgets, sometimes, that that's an option.

"No," he growls. "He attacked you? Here?"

"In the public library," Bruce says wryly. "I think he just wanted to talk." Or talk and bring out the Hulk and fight him to the death.

"Loki never just wants to talk," Thor says. "Even if that's all he does. But he clearly lost his temper." He indicates Bruce's arm. The fact that Loki attacked Bruce, _only_ Bruce, and in the _library,_ feels like a violation.

"Yes," Bruce says. "He wasn't pissing me off enough. He did try, though." He blinks. "He did pretty well."

"You've been working on controlling yourself," Thor says, feeling a flash on pride in between all the worry and anger. He doesn't want these two parts of his life to collide, _ever._ "But if he'd wanted you dead, you would be." He winces. But it's true.

"I didn't expect to live, actually," Bruce says. "I was thinking you would be fairly ticked off about that."

"I don't know what I would have done," Thor says honestly. "But if he didn't want to kill you, what did he want?" He wishes he could touch Bruce without hurting him.

"I think he's, um. Jealous." That's awkward to say. Bruce is profoundly unused to people being jealous of him.

Thor nods slowly, no less angry. "It's true we used to be...close. Now we're not. But the reasons are not my doing." Losing his little brother is something that should be outlined in less harsh language, but he's still furious about the burn on Bruce's arm.

Bruce says, "Could I possibly sit down?"

"Please," Thor says, moving helpfully out of the way. "Do you require anything? Bandages? Tea?"

Bruce maneuvers past him into their room and settles heavily on the edge of the bed. "I don't know," he says. "I don't know what this kind of--injury will do to mortals. Or, more specifically, to me. Any ideas?"

Thor realizes he doesn't _know._ He's seen his friends hurt by Jotuns, but they're stronger than Bruce.

"I know not," he says, frowning at Bruce's arm. "I don't believe anything will happen immediately, but we should have someone see to it." _Someone_ probably means an Asgardian, he realizes unhappily.

"I could try changing," Bruce suggests wanly, and then swallows. "Maybe for the time being you could get me the aspirin out of the bathroom cabinet?"

Thor, numb with relief and guilty because of it, rushes to obey Bruce. He can't go home. Not now. Certainly not with Loki doing things like this. What if they ask about him? Nothing about this situation is good. He locates the bottle called _aspirin_ and hurries to bring it back to Bruce.

"Thanks," Bruce says, and takes the bottle to open it before he realizes that he can't. "Um, could you...?" he says. "The arrows on the cap and the lip line up. You pull up from there."

Thor fumbles with the bottle for a moment before getting it right. He realizes he's shaking. He has next to no idea how to deal with Loki these days.

"Here," he says, offering the open bottle.

Bruce jostles out a couple of the pills onto the bed, sets the bottle (open) on the bedside table, and then throws back the pills and swallows them dry.

"I've had worse," he says, "but I feel like hell. Your brother must really miss you."

Thor swallows hard. "I," he says. "I don't know." He doesn't know what Loki feels toward him for certain, and he's had to reevaluate how Loki felt all along.

Bruce is shaking, too, but it's mostly from pain. He can give in to that. He kicks off his shoes and awkwardly weasels himself supine. Lying down feels as close to wonderful as he expects he is likely to get.

"He said some things," Bruce says faux-casually. He lays his bad hand against the bed, tucks his good hand behind his head, and shuts his eyes. "I don't think he would have said. If he didn't care."

Thor doesn't want to ask. He can't _not_ ask. "Oh," he says. Bruce looks tiny and frail, even though he's taking care of himself as best he can. Thor tries to be brave. "What did he say?"

Bruce clears his throat. His voice still comes out small. "That you'd get bored of me or I'd die and leave you because I'm mortal. That I'm your whore. I think he said that you and he were lovers, as well, although that might...have been...implication." He has to open his eyes for the last part. "That you used to kill monsters for sport and you only haven't killed us because someone made the mistake of calling us people."

Thor is upset and embarrassed and annoyed and then Bruce says the last thing, and all he feels is guilty.

"I...was a bad person," he says simply. It's true. He just didn't want Bruce to find out how bad. He doesn't think, though, that he could ever have hurt Bruce or the others.

Bruce shuts his eyes again. "So some of it's true. Want to be more specific?"

Thor swallows and goes in order. "You don't bore me," he says carefully. "Everything about you fascinates me." He...still can't think about what will happen when Bruce dies.

"He may have indicated you were kind of a slut."

Thor blushes. "Actually," he says, "I've probably been with fewer people than you." He doesn't know if that's true, but he does know that his number is very low for someone as old as he.

Bruce opens his eyes again but stops himself from sitting up, and just stares at the ceiling. "So the liar _can_ lie," he says softly. "I was beginning to doubt his abilities. What about everything else?"

"His implication was a lie as well," Thor says promptly. He hates that particular joke of Loki's. "As for calling you my _whore_...You must have made him angry."

"He couldn't make me change," Bruce murmurs. "And he was angry when he got there, anyway. I don't think I'm your whore," he adds thoughtfully. "He was only talking about the balance of power. Which I guess is the part you haven't cleared up."

Thor looks at his hands, upset that he can't give Bruce an answer that absolves him of all blame and makes everything all right.

"I killed Jotuns," he says quietly. "I came to their world and slew them with little provocation because I believed them to be monsters. For this, my father exiled me to Midgard to learn the error of my ways." It doesn't matter whether he did or not, he cannot unmake his mistakes.

"Your brother is one of them," Bruce says, eyes shut, heart pounding.

"I didn't know," Thor says, as if it matters. "No one but our father knew. And when I found out..." He can't honestly say he would have supported Loki. He never had a chance. "He was already gone," he says.

"I guess my question is," Bruce asks quietly, "whether you still would have walked through someone's front door and murdered them if you knew you already kept one around the house. Or maybe there's a difference once you get it on a leash."

Thor stands up. "This isn't fair," he says, feeling childish. "Our culture, our world, it was completely different. _Alien_ to you. I was raised believing they were monsters. Blame my father for that, but don't doubt that I loved my brother with all my heart. I know what he is now, and more importantly, what he's _done,_ and I love him still. Does that tell you nothing?" He's shaking.

Bruce sits up fast, blanching, but he speaks anyway, through gritted teeth. "If it was just your culture," he says, "your father wouldn't have sent you _here."_

"My father," Thor says softly and angrily, "is not a good man. He is not a _man. _Bruce, do you know what gods are? What they really are? You cannot imagine." This is coming out wrong, but he's afraid that Loki--no, that _he___ has ruined everything.

"I suspect not," Bruce says, eyes glinting. He pauses for a moment to catch his breath and forcibly shove the Hulk out of the foreground of his thinking. "I don't believe in gods."

"Then perhaps I should be living elsewhere," Thor snaps.

"You do have other monsters to worry about," Bruce snaps back. He feels as though he might pass out, and the sheer stress of Hulk being so close to the surface for so long is dizzying.

"Wait," Thor says, looking properly at Bruce's face. He looks ill. He looks _angry._ "Wait, that's not what I meant." He takes a deep, shuddering breath and tries to collect himself. "What I meant was--I'm sorry. I was young and foolish and I killed. I take responsibility for that. But I was taught they weren't _people._ I wouldn't have ever hurt someone I thought to be..." He trails off, because it still doesn't help.

Hulk is practically flinging himself at the edges of Bruce's body. Bruce says, strained and angry and hurting everywhere, "I can't. I can't talk like this. I can't talk about this. I have to rest. You have to go." He fights to breath. "Please. Go. Away from this house. Please. I can't do this."

There is only one right thing Thor can do, besides change the past five minutes, and that is do what Bruce says. He nods jerkily and flees, furious and on the edge of tears.

Once Bruce hears the door slam he collapses against the covers, clutching his arm to his chest and practically sobbing in pain.

"Don't come out," he whispers jaggedly to Hulk. "Don't come out, I swear it won't help. I swear it won't. It's magic and I'm too angry and you'll just break all...our...stuff."

The practical concern is the most upsetting, somehow. Bruce turns his face against the blanket with a moan, and Hulk's raging peters off. He doesn't mind raging, but Hulk hates to cry.


	19. the lady sif comes to their aid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wishes he could just keep her in Midgard with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: none!

Thor only strides, angry and upset, through the streets of New York, for fifteen minutes before he decides he has to do something. It's not so much that he feels better, because he doesn't, but he can't stop thinking about Bruce's arm. That's his to fix, even if Bruce won't let him.

He lifts his hammer and flies to the nearest entrance to the Bifrost. Even flying doesn't clear his head. It just makes him feel guiltier.

He stands in the dirt and looks up, wanting nothing more than to get as far from home as possible. "Heimdall?" he asks reluctantly.

There's a brief silence, and then Heimdall's steady voice says, "Thor Odinsson, it has been some time."

"I have need to return home," Thor shouts, and then adds, more quietly, "briefly." He is acutely aware that Heimdall can see _everything._

"Very well," Heimdall says inscrutably. If there's any judgment from on high, Thor can have no way of knowing what it is. Heimdall opens the Bifrost.

Thor had almost forgotten the feeling of travelling the Bifrost. He finds he doesn't miss it. When he emerges in Asgard, though, it's more beautiful than he remembered.

"Heimdall," he says, nodding to him. "I have need of the Lady Sif. Where is she?" He didn't quite realize until he said it, but he now he knows there's no one else he could go to with... _all_ of this.

"In a garden," Heimdall says. He points. "That garden. There."

His directions are perhaps not as useful to anyone with less all-encompassing eyesight.

"The one where her horse grazes," he says more helpfully, though without any additional emphasis.

Thor fights down a flicker of annoyance, nods to Heimdall, and sets off. He's glad Sif isn't near the palace. He doesn't need for his father to know he's home. It's probably too late for that, so he's just going to make quick work of this problem.

He reaches the garden without incident, and thankfully finds Sif alone, except for the animals.

He calls out her name.

Her head whips around (though her hands don't leave the flank of her mount). "Thor!" she cries in surprise. "I hope you are not an illusion, but if you aren't, I hope you will tell me right off if I am happy to see you or not."

Thor laughs, delighted, and missing her very much. "I can assure you I bring only ill tidings, but it is truly me. I need your aid."

She steps forward to clasp his arm and says, "All right, tell me your trouble. Though you've some nerve, I might add, asking for help out of nowhere like this and not a moment spared for your friends in months, otherwise."

Thor sighs, but not too heavily. Sif doesn't hold grudges. "My father wants things of me I cannot give. I have to remain in Midgard for a time. But it's for Midgard that I come here. Or for a human."

Sif says, without venom, "Oh, naturally we're not worth the trouble of sneaking in, but a _mortal._ " She frowns. "Tell me."

Thor realizes they have a lot of catching up to do. "My...lover," he says, because that's the quickest. "My lover was wounded badly by--by a Jotun." He swallows, annoyed with being a coward. "By Loki. I don't know what to do."

Sif's face grows more serious. "A burn?" she asks. "I know the remedy well enough for an Asgardian. I am not sure a mortal would be strong enough for it, however." She skips over the question of Loki for now. He's always involved with something and it always distracts Thor to bring it up.

Thor nods. Not as dire as he feared, but as complicated as he expected. "Should I risk it? Could it--kill him?"

"It will likely kill him not to try," Sif says as though that's obvious. "I'm only warning you."

Thor shivers. "I see." Then he frowns. "What if--He has the power to transform into a, a creature of sorts. Larger, stronger. What then? Will there be less risk?"

"Oh, Thor, how could I know?" Sif asks. "I know a bit of field medicine but I'm not a _physician,_ and that description is hardly enough to form a prognosis."

Thor knows he's not going to get a better answer than that. "Then thank you," he says. "I will have to try. If he'll let me come near him. Loki upset him, and then I made it worse." He shrugs at her sheepishly.

Sif shrugs back in irritation. "That is not a surprise," she says, and then hesitates. "I could--come with you, if you like. Rather than send you back alone, with your _utter_ lack of expertise."

Thor breaks into his first smile since Bruce got home. " _Would_ you? My father won't like it, but if we hurry, that won't matter. I can't face Bruce alone. That's his name," he adds helpfully. "The mortal."

"Very well!" says Sif. "Oh, I expect you want me to leave my horse and _fly_ to Heimdall, do you? Let me tell you, if it's undignified for a man to be led around by his hammer, it is far worse for a woman to be so."

Thor raises his eyebrows. He wishes he could just keep her in Midgard with him. "If you allow me to join you on your horse..." In the back of his mind, though, he can't relax enough to enjoy this.

"I don't think the horse will appreciate it," she says. "And anyway, we don't want to leave her like a nice flag for your father to see, do you? Also Heimdall is not polite about it when horses leave dung at his post."

Thor nods ruefully, patting the horse. "You're right. Then shall we? I don't want to waste time." Although time may help Bruce stop being furious with him. Thor still doesn't have any of the right answers for him.

"Indeed not," Sif says. "You go back to Heimdall. I'll get what you need and meet you there shortly." She slaps his arm once in a comradely fashion and then hurries off at a brisk pace.

Thor returns to the Bifrost quickly, feeling on-edge and on-guard. He avoids people and is soon standing on front of Heimdall again.

"Heimdall," he says shortly, "I'm going back."

"I thought you would wait for the Lady Sif," Heimdall says blandly. He sees her coming up from the city even now, carrying a bag over her shoulder that isn't customary.

"I am waiting," Thor sighs, annoyed. Heimdall doesn't pay very good attention, for someone who's supposed to be able to see anything. "She's joining me soon." He always feels uncomfortable making conversation with Heimdall. He wonders if there's a good way to ask if Heimdall has been watching him in Midgard, but he decides he'd rather not know.

"Do not worry," Heimdall says evenly, watching somewhere explicitly not Thor. "Your friend in the other realm isn't dying yet."

Sif is less than half a minute away from them now.

Thor glares at him, but it's hard to be angry at Heimdall. It's like being angry at a piece of rock. Besides, he really is grateful to know that.

"Good," he says. Then he thinks of something else. "What of Loki? Can you tell me what he's doing?"

"I can," Heimdall says, and then is silent. As Sif gallops up, he relents (as much as Heimdall ever does). "He rages. He grieves. He lies. He harms. At this moment he does something you cannot object to too much."

At this moment he is also a woman, but Thor had not asked that.

Sif said, "I hope you're not talking about Loki. I brought what you needed, Thor. We should go."

"We should," Thor agrees, not much comforted by Heimdall's words. He objects to all of that, and he has no way to repair it, no more than he can repair what he's said to Bruce.

"Open the Bifrost, please," he says, only polite out of Midgardian habit.

Heimdall nods, and does so, and in a few moments, Thor and Sif are returned to Earth.

"Not this place again," Sif says in disappointment.

Thor rolls his eyes. "We must travel to our house." He stops himself and takes a breath. "Bruce's house." Just in case.

"Now," he says, recovering, "put your arms around me and we'll fly there."

"Oh good," Sif says, but she does so, and she doesn't even attempt to complain on the way there.

They arrive back at Bruce's door too soon, as Thor hasn't decided how to fix anything but Bruce's arm. He knocks, hoping either Bruce or Hulk isn't too upset to open the door.

Sif pushes past him. "First you tell me he's dying, and then you wait for him to answer the door," she says, exasperated. She does not knock. She just goes straight in.

Thor pauses for a second on the threshold before following her in, wondering when he became more timid than she (the answer is, of course, that he always has been).

"Bruce?" he calls softly.

Sif glances around the kitchen and then starts purposefully down the hall. There's nobody in the--that is a strange room. It's small and dingy--this whole place is small and dingy--and made of cold, slightly dull tiles. Is that a _bath?_ It is hardly sufficient. They aren't on the _run._

Thor follows, feelings aimless. "Hulk?" he calls out, slightly more loudly. "Are you here? Bruce?" _What if we're too late?_ he thinks. But Heimdall said...

Sif spares a glance for Thor at the two different names, but she turns around to push open the next door on the left.

"Aha!" she says. There's a bed, here, that takes up a large portion of the space in the room. There's a person--she assumes the correct person--curled up on the bed. "Is this what you're missing?" she asks Thor.

"Yes," Thor says quietly, edging into the room. He goes over to the bed and carefully avoids touching Bruce. He _knows_ that this is a time when touching isn't allowed.

"Bruce?" he whispers. "I've brought something for your arm. Then I will go."

Bruce is asleep, his cheeks still pink and scratchy with salt. When Thor speaks, he stirs, but he can't make himself wake up. It worries him, that he can't find-- _doesn't want..._

He murmurs something that feels like asking for Thor, but he can't tell how it sounds.

"Sif, _hurry,"_ Thor says, disturbed. Bruce isn't waking up right.

"It's all right, I'm here," he tells Bruce awkwardly, his worry overtaking any feelings he might have about staying away and giving Bruce space. Bruce doesn't look like he needs space.

Sif is already taking her supplies out of her bag. "Do you know how to procure hot water here?" she asks.

"The kettle," Thor says, and then he realizes that might not be helpful. He feels like an alien. "In the other room. The kitchen. There's a kettle on the stove. Fill it with--damn it." He realizes most of these words don't translate, but he doesn't want to leave Bruce.

"You do it, idiot!" Sif snaps. "He is not changing into anything, like this."

Thor nods, too panicked now to do anything but obey. He goes to the kitchen and heats the water, hands shaking. He can't lose Bruce like this. He can't. It would be too _stupid._ When the water is finally, finally done, he brings it back to the bedroom, sloshing some over his arm and burning it.

Sif has rolled Bruce over so he's on his back, and is inspecting the wound on his arm. "A basin of cool water as well, please," she says. She would have asked before but Thor is obviously in the state of dropping things.

"Yes," Thor says automatically, and goes to fetch it from the tap. All he can think about is that until recently, he didn't know what any of this was. That's as close as he can get to thinking about how he'd feel if something actually happened to Bruce.

He manages not to spill the cool water.

"Good," Sif says when he puts it down. She picks up a cloth from a stack by her knee and soaks it in the bowl. "It hasn't spread far," she says. "As far as I know you are not too late. If the cure doesn't kill him, that is." She gently lays the cloth against Bruce's arm, not batting an eye when he flinches under the touch. While it sits there she pours a little of the hot water into the basin, and then soaks the cloth in that and repeats the process.

"You have to remind the flesh what it's made of," she explains as she works. Bruce is sweating, and his burned arm is growing warmer with each warmer iteration of the cloth.

Thor watches, fascinated. He never knew Sif had this skill. In fact, to his knowledge, neither she nor the Warriors Three were very good at _fixing_ injuries.

"Can I touch him?" he asks, hovering nervously near the bed. "I need to tell him to become the Hulk."

Sif says, "You can, although I think it would be best for me if you told me what that entailed."

Thor hesitates. He's unsure of the actual mechanics of it, but he can describe what it _looks _like.__

"He becomes much larger," he says. "And greener. And his mind changes." He realizes this is not the best first impression of his boyfriend.

"I think that last part," Sif says, "may be what I am interested in."

"Ah," Thor says. He looks down at Bruce and bites his lip. "He gets angry," he says. "He's _made_ of rage. But if Bruce is hurt, he's hurt. I don't know if that will affect him. But I think I can calm him down." Then again, given how angry Bruce was at him, there's no guarantee.

"I'll have to trust," Sif says. "Go ahead."

Thor nods and kneels by Bruce's head. "Hulk?" he says. "If you can come out, I need you to. He's weak now. He can't stop you." He takes a quick breath and adds, "I don't want you to die."

Bruce's whole body twitches, and then twists suddenly in on itself. It's more than usually painful to change. Hulk has been howling for it all day, and their body is _weak. ___

"I see what you meant," Sif says from the floor.

Hulk reaches his full size. The bed creaks ominously under him. He growls blearily, "What did Thor's stupid little brother do to make Hulk so slow? Hulk _hurts."_

Thor laughs with relief. " _Oh,"_ he says, so glad to see Hulk that he can't stand it. "Just wait. Sif is helping you. If you hurt her, you'll die. You're...poisoned." He doesn't know how else to explain.

Hulk narrows his eyes. "You hurt puny Bruce also," he says. "I didn't say you could do that."

Sif says from the floor, "I'm about to put hot water on your arm, friend, so don't lash out, or you will find your mortality painfully close."

Life would be easier, Thor thinks, if everyone were like Sif and Hulk.

"I didn't mean to," he says. "I want to fix it, but I don't know how to prove I see everyone here as human and couldn't be the kind of person who would hurt them. If my time here hasn't proven that, I'm not sure I can."

"We will see," says Hulk gruffly. "Hulk and puny Bruce." He considers, and concedes, "Hulk has also killed people he should not kill. Part of why puny Bruce hates him."

"All right," says Sif, and drops a piping hot towel over Hulk's injury. He roars briefly in dislike, but he doesn't fight, and his scowl lessens pretty quickly.

"It's already healing," Sif says, peering. "You have great strength."

Thor feels an odd little flash of pride that _his boyfriend_ has great strength, but it's embarrassing and ill-timed, so he quells it.

"I don't want Bruce to hate _me,"_ he says. He should be telling Bruce this. Or telling him something. Soon.

Hulk frowns. "Hulk has better control now, puny Bruce hate le-" He breaks off and roars more loudly. "WHAT IS WOMAN DOING?" he demands.

Sif says, "The _Lady_ is Sif, and she is putting salve on your wound that might actually prevent you and your cohabitant from dying prematurely."

"Trust her," Thor says quickly, "she knows what she's doing." If he only had the Warriors Three, all of his favorite people would be in one place. Shouting.

Hulk growls, and then is quiet as Sif finishes her work.

"Do you intend to stay long?" she asks. "Any bandages I put on you will fall off your other half."

Hulk looks to Thor. "You make him angry. Him you will talk to. Later I'll come back, and it will be Hulk's turn."

Thor is...oddly calmed by that. He can deal with Hulk's anger. It's not nearly as terrifying.

"Then I will wait," Sif says, sitting back.

"It will not make worse to be puny Bruce?" Hulk asks.

"You can let him out if you chose, I do not think either of you will suffer for it," Sif says. "But if the salve is too strong for him, you must be ready to come back. Yes?"

"It won't help anyone if you're difficult," Thor says somewhat dazedly. He just wants Bruce back. He needs Bruce to _listen._ "I'll talk to you soon," he adds, hopefully in a placating manner.

Hulk wrinkles his nose, but not angrily, and in a moment he starts to descend back into Bruce's small shape. Bruce falls back into his pillows and lies there shivering and miserable and (although in less pain than when he fell asleep) in considerably more pain than Hulk.

"Bruce," Thor says. "Oh, Bruce." He never, ever wants to see Bruce look like this again. "It's all right, Sif is fixing you," he says, patting Bruce's hair gingerly. "I'm such an idiot."

Bruce fumbles his good hand up to Thor's arm and grabs at it tightly. _Bad day,_ he wants to explain. _Smart brother._ And everything hurt so, so much. He settles.

"You're good," he whispers. "I'm all wrong. Don't know how to handle it if we...are the same. Doing evil things."

Thor is aghast. "Bruce, _no._ No, that's not..." He can't do this in front of Sif. "It's not," he says simply, squeezing Bruce's hand as hard as he dares. "I made mistakes. I didn't think. I was arrogant and, and...there aren't any monsters here but me." Now that he's _said_ it, he feels horrible. And also relieved.

"I helped," Sif says from the floor. "At the time we thought we were going to war. Really, is there a need for all of this?"

Thor looks over at her gratefully. "I suppose all of my friends did," he says. "They followed me into Jotunheim, as did Loki." He frowns and then dismisses it. There are enough legitimate things to blame Loki for. "It was my fault, though. I wish I could tell you I'd never do that to Midgard, and I do believe that. But I have no proof."

Sif starts wrapping Bruce's arm in bandages. Bruce startles, and then peers down at her to see.

He is too tired for any of this. Hulk obviously started his arm healing, but whatever Thor's friend has put on it hurts almost as much. He squeezes his eyes shut. "Let's not," he says. "Yet. Please."

Thor nods, certain enough now that he's allowed to stay. That's all he needs, until Bruce is stronger. "Just sleep," he says. "I'll stay by your side." He leans in and kisses Bruce's hair quickly.

"Please," Bruce says. "Please stay. I didn't mean it before."

"I know," Thor says, although he didn't know, then. "I wouldn't leave so easily, no matter how angry you were. Not for long." That part he is always sure of.

"Okay," Bruce says. "Good." He starts drifting back to sleep before he can ask Thor's friend her name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> END OF PART ONE.


End file.
